"You are Prince Myshkin?" he asked extremely amiably and politely. He was a very handsome young man, also of about twenty-eight, a trim blond, of above average height, with a small imperial, and an intelligent and very handsome face. Only his smile, for all its amiability, was somewhat too subtle; it revealed his somewhat too pearly and even teeth; his gaze, for all its cheerfulness and ostensible simple-heartedness, was somewhat too intent and searching.
"When he's alone he probably doesn't look that way, and maybe never laughs," the prince somehow felt.
The prince explained all he could, hurriedly, almost in the same way as he had explained to the valet earlier, and to Rogozhin earlier still. Gavrila Ardalionovich meanwhile seemed to be recalling something.
"Was it you," he asked, "who sent a letter to Elizaveta Prokofyevna about a year ago, from Switzerland, I believe?"
"Exactly so."
"In that case they know you here and certainly remember. You wish to see his excellency? I'll announce you presently . . . He'll be free presently. Only you . . . you must kindly wait in the reception room . . . Why is the gentleman here?" he sternly addressed the valet.
"I tell you, he didn't want to . . ."
At that moment the door of the office suddenly opened and some military man with a portfolio in his hand came through it, speaking loudly and bowing his way out.
"Are you there, Ganya?" a voice called from the office. "Come in, please!"
Gavrila Ardalionovich nodded to the prince and hastily went into the office.
About two minutes later the door opened again and the affable voice of Gavrila Ardalionovich rang out:
"Please come in, Prince!"
III
General Ivan Fyodorovich Epanchin was standing in the middle of his office, looking with extreme curiosity at the entering prince, and even took two steps towards him. The prince approached and introduced himself.
"So, sir," replied the general, "what can I do for you?"
"I don't have any pressing business; my purpose was simply to make your acquaintance. I wouldn't want to disturb you, since I don't know anything about your day or your arrangements . . . But I just got off the train . . . I've come from Switzerland . . ."
The general was about to smile, but thought better of it and stopped; then he thought more, narrowed his eyes, looked his guest over once again from head to foot, after which he quickly motioned him to a chair, sat down himself somewhat obliquely, and turned to the prince in impatient expectation. Ganya stood in the corner of the office, by the desk, sorting papers.
"In fact, I have little time for making acquaintances," said the general, "but since you, of course, have some purpose of your own . . ."
"I did anticipate," the prince interrupted, "that you would not fail to see some special purpose in my visit. But, by God, apart from the pleasure of making your acquaintance, I have no particular purpose at all."
"For me, too, of course, it is certainly an extreme pleasure, but amusement isn't all, you know, one sometimes happens to be busy . . . Besides, so far I'm unable to see between us any common . . . any, so to speak, reason . . ."
"There's no reason, indisputably, and, of course, very little in common. Because if I am Prince Myshkin and your spouse is from our family, that, naturally, is no reason. I understand that very well. But nevertheless, my whole pretext consists only in that. I haven't been in Russia for four years or so; and what was I when I left— all but out of my mind! I knew nothing then, and know still less now. I'm in need of good people; there's even one piece of business I have, and I don't know who to turn to. When I was in Berlin, I thought: 'They're almost my relations, I'll start with them; we might be useful to each other—they to me, and I to them—if they're good people.' And I'd heard you were good people."
"Much obliged, sir," the general was surprised. "Allow me to inquire where you're staying."
"I'm not staying anywhere yet."
"So you came to me straight from the train? And . . . with your luggage?"
"All the luggage I have is a little bundle of linen, and nothing else; I usually carry it with me. I'll have time to take a room in the evening."
"Then you still intend to take a room?"
"Oh, yes, of course."
"Judging by your words, I was of a mind that you had come straight to me."
"That could be, but not otherwise than by your invitation. Though, I confess, I wouldn't stay even then, not that there's any reason, but just ... by character."
"Well, that makes it opportune that I did not and do not invite you. Excuse me, Prince, but to clarify it all at once: since you and I have just concluded that there can be no talk between us of being related—though, naturally, I'd find it very flattering—it means that . . ."
"It means that I can get up and leave?" the prince rose slightly, laughing even somehow merrily, despite all the apparent embarrassment of his situation. "There, by God, General, though I have absolutely no practical knowledge either of local customs or of how people normally live here, things went with us just now as I thought they were certain to go. Well, maybe that's how it should be . . . And you also didn't answer my letter then . . . Well, good-bye and forgive me for bothering you."
The prince's gaze was so gentle at that moment, and his smile was so free of the least shade of any concealed hostility, that the
general suddenly stopped and somehow suddenly looked at his visitor in a different way; the whole change of view occurred in a single instant.
"But you know, Prince," he said in an almost totally different voice, "after all, I don't know you, and Elizaveta Prokofyevna might want to have a look at her namesake . . . Perhaps you'd like to wait, if your time will keep."
"Oh, my time will keep; my time is all my own" (and the prince immediately put his round, soft-brimmed hat on the table). "I confess, I counted on Elizaveta Prokofyevna maybe remembering that I had written to her. Your servant, when I was waiting for you earlier, suspected that I had come to beg from you out of poverty; I noticed it, and you must have given him strict instructions about that; but I really didn't come for that, I really came only so as to get to know people. Only I have a slight suspicion that I've disturbed you, and that troubles me."
"I'll tell you what, Prince," the general said with a cheerful smile, "if you are indeed the way you seem to be, it might very well be pleasant to become acquainted with you; only, you see, I'm a busy man and presently I'll sit down again to look something over and sign it, and then I'll go to see his highness, and then to my department, and the result is that though I'm glad to meet people ... I mean, good people . . . still. . . However, I'm so convinced of your perfect upbringing that . . . And how old are you, Prince?"
"Twenty-six."
"Hah! And I thought you were much younger."
"Yes, people say I have a youthful face. But I'll learn not to disturb you and figure it out quickly, because I myself don't like to disturb . . . And, finally, it seems to me that we're such different people, by the look of it... in many ways, that we perhaps cannot have many points in common, only, you know, I personally don't believe in that last notion, because it often only seems that there are no points in common, when there really are a lot ... it comes from people's laziness, that they sort themselves out by looks and can't find anything . . . But, anyhow, maybe I've begun to bore you? It's as if you . . ."
"A couple of words, sir: do you have some property at least? Or perhaps you intend to take something up? I apologize for being so . . ."