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up your favourite Dmitri, who takes no notice of her and
does not care for her, and may marry Ivan Fyodorovitch —
such an excellent and cultivated young man, who loves her
more than anything in the world. We are in a regular plot
to bring it about, and I am even staying on here perhaps on
that account.’
‘But she has been crying — she has been wounded again,’
cried Alyosha.
‘Never trust a woman’s tears, Alexey Fyodorovitch. I am
never for the women in such cases. I am always on the side
of the men.’
‘Mamma, you are spoiling him,’ Lise’s little voice cried
from behind the door.
‘No, it was all my fault. I am horribly to blame,’ Alyosha
repeated unconsoled, hiding his face in his hands in an ag-
ony of remorse for his indiscretion.
‘Quite the contrary; you behaved like an angel, like an
angel. I am ready to say so a thousand times over.’
‘Mamma, how has he behaved like an angel?’ Lise’s voice
was heard again.
‘I somehow fancied all at once,’ Alyosha went on as
though he had not heard Lise, ‘that she loved Ivan, and so I
said that stupid thing.... What will happen now?’
‘To whom, to whom?’ cried Lise. ‘Mamma, you really
want to be the death of me. I ask you and you don’t answer.’
At the moment the maid ran in.
‘Katerina Ivanovna is ill.... She is crying, struggling...
hysterics.’
‘What is the matter?’ cried Lise, in a tone of real anxiety.