An hour later Tihon came to summon Princess Marya to the old prince， and added that Prince Vassily was with him. When Tihon came to her， Princess Marya was sitting on the sofa in her own room holding in her arms the weeping Mademoiselle Bourienne. Princess Marya was softly stroking her head. Her beautiful eyes had regained all their luminous peace， and were gazing with tender love and commiseration at the pretty little face of Mademoiselle Bourienne.
“Oh， princess， I am ruined for ever in your heart，” Mademoiselle Bourienne was saying.
“Why？ I love you more than ever，” said Princess Marya， “and I will try to do everything in my power for your happiness.”
“But you despise me， you who are so pure， you will never understand this frenzy of passion. Ah， it is only my poor mother …”
“I understand everything，” said Princess Marya， smiling mournfully. “Calm yourself， my dear. I am going to my father，” she said， and she went out.
When the princess went in， Prince Vassily was sitting with one leg crossed high over the other， and a snuff-box in his hand. There was a smile of emotion on his face， and he looked as though moved to such an extreme point that he could but regret and smile at his own sensibility. He took a hasty pinch of snuff.
“Ah， my dear， my dear！” he said， getting up and taking her by both hands. He heaved a sigh， and went on： “My son’s fate is in your hands. Decide， my good dear， sweet Marie， whom I have always loved like a daughter.” He drew back. There was a real tear in his eye.
“Fr … ffr …” snorted the old prince. “The prince in his protégé’s … his son’s name makes you a proposal. Are you willing or not to be the wife of Prince Anatole Kuragin？ You say： yes or no，” he shouted， “and then I reserve for myself the right to express my opinion. Yes， my opinion， and nothing but my opinion，” added the old prince， to Prince Vassily in response to his supplicating expression， “Yes or no！”
“My wish， mon père， is never to leave you； never to divide my life from yours. I do not wish to marry，” she said resolutely， glancing with her beautiful eyes at Prince Vassily and at her father.
“Nonsense， fiddlesticks！ Nonsense， nonsense！” shouted the old prince， frowning. He took his daughter’s hand， drew her towards him and did not kiss her， but bending over， touched her forehead with his， and wrung the hand he held so violently that she winced and uttered a cry. Prince Vassily got up.
“My dear， let me tell you that this is a moment I shall never forget， never； but， dear， will you not give us a little hope of touching so kind and generous a heart. Say that perhaps.… The future is so wide.… Say： perhaps.”
“Prince， what I have said is all that is in my heart. I thank you for the honour you do me， but I shall never be your son’s wife.”
“Well， then it’s all over， my dear fellow. Very glad to have seen you， very glad to have seen you. Go to your room， princess； go along now，” said the old prince. “Very， very glad to have seen you，” he repeated， embracing Prince Vassily.
“My vocation is a different one，” Princess Marya was thinking to herself； “my vocation is to be happy in the happiness of others， in the happiness of love and self-sacrifice. And at any cost I will make poor Amélie happy. She loves him so passionately. She is so passionately penitent. I will do everything to bring about their marriage. If he is not rich I will give her means， I will beg my father， I will beg Andrey. I shall be so happy when she is his wife. She is so unhappy， a stranger， solitary and helpless！ And， my God， how passionately she must love him to be able to forget herself so. Perhaps I might have done the same！…” thought Princess Marya.
