PART III
2. CHAPTER II.
(continued)
She did not finish her indefinite sentence; she restrained
herself in a moment; but it was enough.
Nastasia Philipovna, who up to now had been walking along as
though she had not noticed the Epanchin party, suddenly turned
her head in their direction, as though she had just observed
Evgenie Pavlovitch sitting there for the first time.
"Why, I declare, here he is!" she cried, stopping suddenly. "The
man one can't find with all one's messengers sent about the
place, sitting just under one's nose, exactly where one never
thought of looking! I thought you were sure to be at your uncle's
by this time."
Evgenie Pavlovitch flushed up and looked angrily at Nastasia
Philipovna, then turned his back on her.
"What I don't you know about it yet? He doesn't know--imagine
that! Why, he's shot himself. Your uncle shot himself this very
morning. I was told at two this afternoon. Half the town must
know it by now. They say there are three hundred and fifty
thousand roubles, government money, missing; some say five
hundred thousand. And I was under the impression that he would
leave you a fortune! He's whistled it all away. A most depraved
old gentleman, really! Well, ta, ta!--bonne chance! Surely you
intend to be off there, don't you? Ha, ha! You've retired from
the army in good time, I see! Plain clothes! Well done, sly
rogue! Nonsense! I see--you knew it all before--I dare say you
knew all about it yesterday-"
Although the impudence of this attack, this public proclamation
of intimacy, as it were, was doubtless premeditated, and had its
special object, yet Evgenie Pavlovitch at first seemed to intend
to make no show of observing either his tormentor or her words.
But Nastasia's communication struck him with the force of a
thunderclap. On hearing of his uncle's death he suddenly grew as
white as a sheet, and turned towards his informant.
At this moment, Lizabetha Prokofievna rose swiftly from her seat,
beckoned her companions, and left the place almost at a run.
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