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- 452 CRIME AND PUNISHMENT
woman. There is a son serving in the provinces, but he doesn't
help; there is a daughter, who is married, but she doesn't visit
them. And they've two Httle nephews on their hands, as though
their own children were not enough, and they've taken from
school their youngest daughter, a girl who'll be sixteen in an-
other month, so that then she can be married. She was for me.
We went there. How funny it was! I present myself — a land-
owner, awidower, of a well-known name, with connections,
with a fortune. What if I am fifty and she is not sixteen? Who
thinks of that? But it's fascinating, isn't it? It is fascinating,
ha-ha! You should have seen how I talked to the papa and
mamma. It was worth paying to have seen me at that moment.
She comes in, curtseys, you can fancy, still in a short frock —
an unopened bud! Flushing like a sunset — she had been told, no
doubt. I don't know how you feel about female faces, but to my
mind these sixteen years, these childish eyes, shyness and tears
of bashfulness are better than beauty; and she is a perfect little
picture, too. Fair hair in little curls, like a lamb's, full little rosy
lips, tiny feet, a charmer! . . . Well, we made friends. I told them
I was in a hurry owing to domestic circumstances, and the next
day, that is the day before yesterday, we were betrothed. When
I go now I take her on my knee at once and keep her there. . . .
Well, she flushes like a sunset and I kiss her every minute. Her
mamma of course impresses on her that this is her husband and
that this must be so. It's simply delicious! The present betrothed
condition is perhaps better than marriage. Here you have what
is called la nature et la verite, ha-ha! I've talked to her twice,
she is far from a fool. Sometimes she steals a look at me that
positively scorches me. Her face is like Raphael's Madonna. You
know, the Sistine Madonna's face has something fantastic in it,
the face of mournful religious ecstasy. Haven't you noticed it?
Well, she's something in that line. The day after we'd been be-
trothed, Ibought her presents to the value of fifteen hundred
roubles — a set of diamonds and another of pearls and a silver
dressing-case as large as this, with all sorts of things in it, so
that even my Madonna's face glowed. I sat her on my knee, yes-
terday, and I suppose rather too unceremoniously — she flushed
crimson and the tears started, but she didn't want to show it.
We were left alone, she suddenly flung herself on my neck (for
the first time of her own accord) , put her little arms round me.
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