Fyodor Dostoyevsky - The Complete Works of Fyodor Dostoyevsky - Novels, Short Stories and Autobiographical Writings

Katya did think for exactly two days. For two days her laughter and shouts were not heard. Waking in the night, I heard her even in her sleep still arguing with Madame Leotard. She actually grew a little thinner during those two days, and there was not such a vivid flush of red on her bright little face. At last on the third day we met downstairs in the big rooms. Katya was on her way from her mother’s room, but seeing me, she stopped and sat not far off, facing me. I waited in terror for what was coming, trembling in every limb.

“Nyetochka, why did they scold me because of you?” she asked at last.

“It was not because of me, Katenka,” I said in haste to defend myself.

“But Madame Leotard said that I had insulted you.”

“No, Katenka, no; you did not insult me.”

Katya shrugged her shoulders to express her perplexity.

“Why is it you are always crying?” she asked after a brief silence.

“I won’t cry if you want me not to,” I answered through my tears.

She shrugged her shoulders again.

“You were always crying before.”

I made no answer.

“Why is it you are living with us?” Katya asked suddenly.

I gazed at her in bewilderment, and something seemed to stab me to the heart.

“Because I am an orphan,” I answered at last, pulling myself together.

“Used you to have a father and mother?”

“Yes.”

“Well, didn’t they love you?”

“No… they did love me,” I answered with an effort.

“Were they poor?”

“Yes.”

“They didn’t each you anything?”

“They taught me to read.”

“Did you have any toys?”

“No.”

“Did you have any cakes?”

“No.”

“How many rooms had you?”

“One.”

“And had you any servants?”

“No, we had no servants.”

“Who did the work?”

“I used to go out and buy things myself.”

Katya’s questions lacerated my heart more and more. And memories and my loneliness and the astonishment of the little princess — all this stabbed and wounded my heart, and all the blood seemed to rush to it. I was trembling with emotion, and was choking with tears.

“I suppose you are glad you are living with us?”

I did not speak.

“Did you have nice clothes?”

“No.”

“Nasty ones?”

“Yes.”

“I have seen your dress, they showed me it.”

“Why do you ask me questions?” I said, trembling all over with a new and unknown feeling, and I got up from my seat. “Why do you ask me questions?” I went on, flushing with indignation. “Why are you laughing at me?”

Katya flared up, and she, too, rose from her seat, but she instantly controlled her feeling.

“No… I am not laughing,” she answered. “I only wanted to know whether it was true that your father and mother were poor.”

“Why do you ask me about father and mother?” I said, beginning to cry from mental distress. “Why do you ask such questions about them? What have they done to you, Katya?”

Katya stood in confusion and did not know what to answer. At that moment the prince walked in.

“What is the matter with you, Nyetochka?” he asked, looking at me and seeing my tears. “What is the matter with you?” he asked, glancing at Katya, who was as red as fire. “What were you talking about? What have you been quarrelling about? Nyetochka, what have you been quarrelling about?”

But I could not answer. I seized the prince’s hand and kissed it with tears.

“Katya, tell the truth. What has happened?”

Katya could not lie.

“I told her that I had seen what horrid clothes she had when she lived with her father and mother.”

“Who showed you them? Who dared to show them?”

“I saw them myself,” Katya answered resolutely.

“Well, very well! You won’t tell tales, I know that. What else?”

“And she cried and asked why I was laughing at her father and mother.

“Then you were laughing at them?”

Though Katya had not laughed, yet she must have had some such feeling when for the first time I had taken her words so. She did not answer a word, which meant that she acknowledged that it was the fact.

“Go to her at once and beg her forgiveness,” said the prince, indicating me.

The little princess stood as white as a handkerchief and did not budge.

“Well?” said the prince.

“I won’t,” Katya brought out at last in a low voice, with a most determined air.

“Katya!”

“No, I won’t, I won’t!” she cried suddenly, with flashing eyes, and she stamped. “I won’t beg forgiveness, papa. I don’t like her. I won’t live with her…. It’s not my fault she cries all day. I don’t want to. I don’t want to!”

“Come with me,” said the prince, taking her by the hand. “Nyetochka, go upstairs.” And he led her away into the study.

I longed to rush to the prince to intercede for Katya, but the prince sternly repeated his command and I went upstairs, turning cold and numb with terror. When I got to our room I sank on the sofa and hid my head in my hands. I counted the minutes, waited with impatience for Katya, I longed to fling myself at her feet. At last she came back, and without saying a word passed by me and sat down in a corner. Her eyes looked red and her cheeks were swollen from crying. All my resolution vanished. I looked at her in terror, and my terror would not let me stir.

I did my utmost to blame myself, tried my best to prove to myself that I was to blame for everything. A thousand times I was on the point of going up to Katya, and a thousand times I checked myself, not knowing how she would receive me. So passed one day and then a second. On the evening of the second day Katya was more cheerful, and began bowling her hoop through the rooms, but she soon abandoned this pastime and sat down alone in her corner. Before going to bed she suddenly turned to me, even took two steps in my direction, and her lips parted to say something to me; but she stopped, turned away and got into bed.” After that another day passed, and Madame Leotard, surprised, began at last asking Katya what had happened to her, and whether it was because she was ill she had become so quiet. Katya made some answer and took up the shuttlecock, but as soon as Madame Leotard turned away, she reddened and began to cry. She ran out of the room that I might not see her. And at last it was all explained: exactly three days after our quarrel she came suddenly, after dinner, into my room and shyly drew near me.

“Papa has ordered me to beg your forgiveness,” she said. “Do you forgive me?”

I clutched Katya by both hands quickly, and breathless with excitement, I said —

“Yes, yes.”

“Papa ordered me to kiss you. Will you kiss me?”

In reply I began kissing her hands, wetting them with my tears. Glancing at Katya, I saw in her an extraordinary change. Her lips were faintly moving, her chin was twitching, her eyes were moist; but she instantly mastered her emotion and a smile came for a second on her lips.

“I will go and tell father that I have kissed you and begged your forgiveness,” she said softly, as though reflecting to herself. “I haven’t seen him for three days; he forbade me to go in to him till I had,” she added after a brief pause.

And saying this, she went timidly and thoughtfully downstairs, as though she were uncertain how her father would receive her.

But an hour later there was a sound of noise, shouting, and laughter upstairs, Falstaff barked, something was upset and broken, several books flew on to the floor, the hoop went leaping and resounding through all the rooms — in short, I learned that Katya was reconciled with her father, and my heart was all aquiver with joy.