. . . no! that word is not strong enough—I am revolted by your late . . . your midnight visits to that young man's room. And that under my roof! Do you suppose that that is quite as it should be, and that I am to be silent, and, as it were, screen your flightiness? As a virtuous woman of irreproachable character . . . Oui, mademoiselle, je l'ai été, je le suis, et le serai toujours—I cannot help feeling indignant.'
Valentina Mihalovna flung herself into an arm-chair as though crushed by the weight of her indignation.
Marianna smiled for the first time.
'I do not doubt your virtue, past, present, and future,' she began, 'and I say so quite sincerely; but your indignation is needless; I have brought no disgrace on your roof. The young man to whom you allude . . . yes, I certainly . . . have come to love him.. . .'
'You love Monsieur Nezhdanov?'
'Yes, I love him.'
Valentina Mihalovna sat up in her chair.
'Good gracious, Marianna! why, he's a student, of no birth, no family—why, he's younger than you are!' (There was a certain spiteful pleasure in the utterance of these words.) 'What can come of it? and what can you, with your intellect, find in him? He's simply a shallow boy.'
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