‘The first man that happens along she forgets her father and everything else, she runs upstairs and has her hair all scraped up, then goes all coy – she’s not the same woman! Only too glad to drop her old father! And she knew I was bound to notice. Grr . . . grr . . . grr . . . They must think I’m blind . . . that fool has eyes for no one but that Bourienne girl . . . must get rid of her. How can she have so little pride that she can’t see it? If she can’t show any pride for herself, can’t she show some for me? I must show her that that young idiot isn’t thinking about her, his eyes are on Bourienne. She has no pride, but I’ll show her . . .’
But the old prince knew that by telling his daughter she was making a mistake and that Anatole was busy flirting with Mademoiselle Bourienne he would undermine her self-respect, and his cause – to avoid being parted from his daughter – would be lost, so eventually he began to calm down. He summoned Tikhon and began undressing.
‘Damn them for coming here!’ he thought, as Tikhon slipped a nightshirt over his desiccated old body and his chest covered with grey hair. ‘I didn’t invite them. They come here and turn my life upside down. And there’s not much of it left. Damn them!’ he mumbled while his head was hidden in the nightshirt. Tikhon was used to the prince’s habit of sometimes thinking aloud, and his face didn’t change when he encountered an inquiring angry glare emerging from the nightshirt.
‘In bed?’ asked the prince.
Like any good valet Tikhon had a flair for following his master’s thoughts. He guessed that the question referred to Prince Vasily and his son.
‘Their Honours have retired and put out their lights, sir.’
‘They had no reason, no reason at all,’ the prince gabbled, shuffling his feet into his slippers and his arms into his dressing-gown before going over to the couch where he slept.
Although nothing had been said between Anatole and Mademoiselle Bourienne, they had a perfect understanding over the first part of their affair, up to the ‘poor mother’ episode. Knowing they had much to say to each other in private, they watched from early morning for the first opportunity of meeting alone. As soon as the princess went in for the usual hour with her father, Mademoiselle Bourienne and Anatole met in the winter garden.
That morning Princess Marya went to the study door even more flustered than usual. She could only imagine that everybody knew her fate would be settled today, and everybody knew what she thought of it all. She read this on Tikhon’s face and on the face of Prince Vasily’s valet, who met her in the corridor carrying hot water and bowed low to her.
The old prince’s attitude to his daughter that morning was extremely affectionate and forbearing. This look of forbearance on her father’s face was only too well known to Princess Marya. It was the same look that came over his face when his withered hands were clenched with vexation at her failure to understand some arithmetical problem, after which he would get up and walk away, repeating the same words in a low voice over and over again.
He began talking, rather formally, and came straight to the point. ‘A proposal has been made to me on your behalf,’ he said with a forced smile. ‘I’m sure you must have guessed,’ he went on, ‘that Prince Vasily has not come here with his ward’ (inexplicably this was how the old prince referred to Anatole) ‘to look at my beautiful eyes. Yesterday, they made me a proposal on your behalf. You know my principles. I refer the matter to you.’
‘I don’t think I understand you, Father,’ said the princess, turning pale and red in turn.
‘There’s nothing to understand!’ cried her father angrily. ‘Prince Vasily finds you to his taste as a daughter-in-law, and is proposing to you on behalf of his ward. That’s all there is to it. How can you not understand? . . . Well, come on, I’m waiting.’
‘I don’t know about you, Father,’ the princess whispered.
‘Me? Me? What’s it got to do with me? Leave me out of it. I’m not the one getting married. What do
The princess could see that her father was bitterly against it, but it suddenly occurred to her that now or never her life’s destiny would be decided. She looked down to avoid the gaze which rendered her incapable of thought, incapable of anything but her usual deference. ‘My only wish is to do your will,’ she said, ‘but if I had to express my own desire . . .’
Before she could finish the prince cut her short. ‘Well, that’s splendid then!’ he shouted. ‘He’ll go off with you and your dowry, and take Mademoiselle Bourienne along too. She’ll be his wife, and you . . .’ The prince stopped. He could see the effect of these words on his daughter. She had lowered her head and was on the verge of tears.
