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Chapter 8

           DoyouknowIhaveintendedtopoisonmyselfatleastthirtytimes—eversinceIwasthirteenorso—andtowritetomyparentsbeforeIdidit?Iusedtothinkhowniceitwouldbetolieinmycoffin,andhavethemallweepingovermeandsayingitwasalltheirfaultforbeingsocruel,andallthat—whatareyousmilingat?”sheadded,knittingherbrow.“Whatdoyouthinkofwhenyougomooningaboutalone?Isupposeyouimagineyourselfafield-marshal,andthinkyouhaveconqueredNapoleon?”

           “Well,Ireallyhavethoughtsomethingofthesortnowandthen,especiallywhenjustdozingoff,”laughedtheprince.“OnlyitistheAustrianswhomIconquer—notNapoleon.”

           “Idon’twishtojokewithyou,LefNicolaievitch.IshallseeHippolytemyself.Tellhimso.Asforyou,Ithinkyouarebehavingverybadly,becauseitisnotrighttojudgeaman’ssoulasyouarejudgingHippolyte’s.Youhavenogentleness,butonlyjustice—soyouareunjust.”

           Theprincereflected.

           “Ithinkyouareunfairtowardsme,”hesaid.“ThereisnothingwronginthethoughtsIascribetoHippolyte;theyareonlynatural.ButofcourseIdon’tknowforcertainwhathethought.Perhapshethoughtnothing,butsimplylongedtoseehumanfacesoncemore,andtohearhumanpraiseandfeelhumanaffection.Whoknows?Onlyitallcameoutwrong,somehow.Somepeoplehaveluck,andeverythingcomesoutrightwiththem;othershavenone,andneverathingturnsoutfortunately.

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