“What! On the Riviera?”
“What nonsense! Of course not.”
Sophia Antonovna’s tone was slightly tart.
“Is he, then, living actually in Russia? It’s a tremendous risk--isn’t
it?” I cried. “And all for the sake of a peasant girl. Don’t you think
it’s very wrong of him?”
Sophia Antonovna preserved a mysterious silence for a while, then made a
statement. “He just simply adores her.”
“Does he? Well, then, I hope that she won’t hesitate to beat him.”
Sophia Antonovna got up and wished me good-bye, as though she had not
heard a word of my impious hope; but, in the very doorway, where I
attended her, she turned round for an instant, and declared in a firm
voice--
“Peter Ivanovitch is an inspired man.”