Now--now, I don't know why he impressed me at once as absolutely, incontestably beautiful, so that no one could have said that his face was like a mask.
Wasn't it perhaps that he was a little paler and seemed rather thinner than before?
Or was there, perhaps, the light of some new idea in his eyes?
"Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch!" cried Varvara Petrovna, drawing herself up but not rising from her chair.

"Stop a minute!" She checked his advance with a peremptory gesture.
But to explain the awful question which immediately followed that gesture and exclamation--a question which I should have imagined to be impossible even in Varvara Petrovna, I must ask the reader to remember what that lady's temperament had always been, and the extraordinary impulsiveness she showed at some critical moments.

I beg him to consider also, that in spite of the exceptional strength of her spirit and the very considerable amount of common sense and practical, so to say business, tact she possessed, there were moments in her life in which she abandoned herself altogether, entirely and, if it's permissible to say so, absolutely without restraint.

I beg him to take into consideration also that the present moment might really be for her one of those in which all the essence of life, of all the past and all the present, perhaps, too, all the future, is concentrated, as it were, focused.

I must briefly recall, too, the anonymous letter of which she had spoken to Praskovya Ivanovna with so much irritation, though I think she said nothing of the latter part of it.