“But, really, for mercy’s sake, prince, what have I done?” said the princess, almost crying.

She, pleased and happy after her conversation with her daughter, had gone to the prince to say good-night as usual, and though she had no intention of telling him of Levin’s offer and Kitty’s refusal, still she hinted to her husband that she fancied things were practically settled with Vronsky, and that he would declare himself so soon as his mother arrived.  And thereupon, at those words, the prince had all at once flown into a passion, and began to use unseemly language.

“What have you done?  I’ll tell you what.  First of all, you’re trying to catch an eligible gentleman, and all Moscow will be talking of it, and with good reason.  If you have evening parties, invite everyone, don’t pick out the possible suitors.  Invite all the young bucks.  Engage a piano player, and let them dance, and not as you do things nowadays, hunting up good matches.  It makes me sick, sick to see it, and you’ve gone on till you’ve turned the poor wench’s head.  Levin’s a thousand times the better man.  As for this little Petersburg swell, they’re turned out by machinery, all on one pattern, and all precious rubbish.  But if he were a prince of the blood, my daughter need not run after anyone.”

“But what have I done?”

“Why, you’ve...”  The prince was crying wrathfully.

“I know if one were to listen to you,” interrupted the princess, “we should never marry our daughter.  If it’s to be so, we’d better go into the country.”

“Well, and we had better.”

“But do wait a minute.  Do I try and catch them?  I don’t try to catch them in the least.  A young man, and a very nice one, has fallen in love with her, and she, I fancy...”

“Oh, yes, you fancy!  And how if she really is in love, and he’s no more thinking of marriage than I am!...  Oh, that I should live to see it!  Ah! spiritualism!  Ah!  Nice!  Ah! the ball!” And the prince, imagining that he was mimicking his wife, made a mincing curtsey at each word.  “And this is how we’re preparing wretchedness for Kitty; and she’s really got the notion into her head...”

“But what makes you suppose so?”

“I don’t suppose; I know.  We have eyes for such things, though women-folk haven’t.  I see a man who has serious intentions, that’s Levin:  and I see a peacock, like this feather-head, who’s only amusing himself.”

“Oh, well, when once you get an idea into your head!...”

“Well, you’ll remember my words, but too late, just as with Dolly.”

“Well, well, we won’t talk of it,” the princess stopped him, recollecting her unlucky Dolly.

“By all means, and good night!”

And signing each other with the cross, the husband and wife parted with a kiss, feeling that they each remained of their own opinion.

The princess had at first been quite certain that that evening had settled Kitty’s future, and that there could be no doubt of Vronsky’s intentions, but her husband’s words had disturbed her.  And returning to her own room, in terror before the unknown future, she, too, like Kitty, repeated several times in her heart, “Lord, have pity; Lord, have pity; Lord, have pity.”