‘Now listen, I was only joking,’ he said. ‘Remember this, Princess: I stick to the rule that a girl has every right to choose. And I give you complete freedom. Remember this: your happiness in life depends on your decision. No need to worry about me.’
‘But I don’t know . . . Father.’
‘There’s nothing to talk about. He’ll do what he’s told, whether it’s marrying you or anybody else, but you are at liberty to choose . . . Now go to your room, think it over, come back in an hour’s time and say yes or no in his presence. I know you will pray for guidance. Well, pray if you like. Only you’d be better off thinking. Off you go.’
‘Yes or no, yes or no, yes or no!’ he kept on shouting long after the princess had tottered out of the room as if she was groping her way through a fog.
Her fate had been decided, and her happiness was now secure. But what had her father said about Mademoiselle Bourienne? That had been a horrible jibe. Of course it wasn’t true, but it was still horrible and she couldn’t get it out of her mind. She walked straight on through the winter garden seeing and hearing nothing when she was suddenly brought to her senses by a familiar voice whispering – it was Mademoiselle Bourienne. She looked up and not two paces away saw Anatole with his arms round the French girl, whispering to her. Anatole whipped round and looked at Princess Marya with a horrified expression on his handsome face, but he was in no hurry to let go of Mademoiselle Bourienne’s waist – who hadn’t yet seen her.
‘Who’s that? What do you want? Wait a minute!’ was the message on Anatole’s face. Princess Marya gazed blankly at them. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Then at last Mademoiselle Bourienne gave a cry and fled. Anatole bowed to Princess Marya with a sweet smile, as if inviting her to share his amusement at this strange turn of events, and then with a shrug he went in through the door leading to his room.
Within the hour Tikhon came to summon Princess Marya to the old prince, adding that Prince Vasily was with him. When Tikhon came Princess Marya was sitting on the sofa in her room with her arms around a weeping Mademoiselle Bourienne. Princess Marya was softly stroking her hair. Her lovely eyes shone with the serenity of old as she gazed with warm love and commiseration into Mademoiselle Bourienne’s pretty little face.
‘Oh, Princess, I have lost your heart for ever,’ Mademoiselle Bourienne was saying.
‘Why? I love you more than ever,’ said Princess Marya, ‘and I shall try to do everything in my power to make you happy.’
‘But you must despise me. You’re so pure. You could never understand a passionate longing like this. Oh, only my poor mother . . .’
‘I understand everything,’ said Princess Marya with the saddest of smiles. ‘Now, you calm down, my dear. I’m going to see Father,’ she said and went out.
Prince Vasily was sitting there with one leg crossed high over the other, snuff-box in hand, his face suffused with emotion so extreme that he seemed ruefully embarrassed by his own sensitivity. When she came in he took a hasty pinch of snuff.
‘Ah, my dear girl, my dear girl!’ he said, rising to take hold of both her hands. He heaved a sigh and went on, ‘My son’s destiny is in your hands. Make your decision, good, dear, sweet Marie, whom I have always loved like my own daughter.’ He stood back. There were real tears in his eyes.
‘Hmph!’ snorted the old prince. ‘On behalf of his ward . . . er, his son . . . the Prince is making a proposal to you. Do you or do you not wish to be the wife of Prince Anatole Kuragin? Yes or no?’ he shouted. ‘After which I reserve the right to express an opinion of my own. Yes, my own opinion and nobody else’s,’ – this to Prince Vasily in response to a beseeching look. ‘Yes or no! What have you to say?’
‘My wish, Father, is never to leave you, never to separate my life from yours. I do not wish to marry,’ she said with certainty, turning her lovely eyes on Prince Vasily and her father.
‘Nonsense! Fiddlesticks! Stuff and nonsense!’ roared the old prince with a great scowl. He took his daughter’s hand, pulled her towards him, bent over without kissing her to place his forehead against hers so they were just touching, and squeezed her hand so violently that she winced and cried out. Prince Vasily rose to his feet.
‘My dear girl, I must say this is a moment I shall never forget, never, but you are so kind, can you not leave us some small hope of touching such a good and generous heart? Say that perhaps one day . . . The future is so vast . . . Perhaps, one day . . .’
‘Prince, I have told you all that is in my heart. You do me honour and I thank you, but I shall never be your son’s wife.’
‘Well, that’s it, my dear fellow. It’s been so nice to see you, so nice to see you. Go to your room, Princess, go along now,’ said the old prince. ‘It’s been so nice to see you,’ he kept repeating as he embraced Prince Vasily.
