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Chapter 7

           

           SuddenlyhebecameawarethatGeneralEpanchinwastappinghimontheshoulder;IvanPetrovitchwaslaughingtoo,butstillmorekindandsympathizingwastheolddignitary.Hetooktheprincebythehandandpresseditwarmly;thenhepattedit,andquietlyurgedhimtorecollecthimself—speakingtohimexactlyashewouldhavespokentoalittlefrightenedchild,whichpleasedtheprincewonderfully;andnextseatedhimbesidehimself.

           Theprincegazedintohisfacewithpleasure,butstillseemedtohavenopowertospeak.Hisbreathfailedhim.Theoldman’sfacepleasedhimgreatly.

           “Doyoureallyforgiveme?”hesaidatlast.“And—andLizabethaProkofievnatoo?”Thelaughincreased,tearscameintotheprince’seyes,hecouldnotbelieveinallthiskindness—hewasenchanted.

           “Thevasecertainlywasaverybeautifulone.Irememberithereforfifteenyears—yes,quitethat!”remarkedIvanPetrovitch.

           “Oh,whatadreadfulcalamity!Awretchedvasesmashed,andamanhalfdeadwithremorseaboutit,”saidLizabethaProkofievna,loudly.“Whatmadeyousodreadfullystartled,LefNicolaievitch?”sheadded,alittletimidly.“Come,mydearboy!cheerup.Youreallyalarmme,takingtheaccidentsotoheart.”

           “Doyouforgivemeall—all,besidesthevase,Imean?”saidtheprince,risingfromhisseatoncemore,buttheoldgentlemancaughthishandanddrewhimdownagain—heseemedunwillingtolethimgo.

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