Gavrila Ardalionovitch was still sitting in the study, buried in a mass of papers. He looked as though he did not take his salary from the public company, whose servant he was, for a sinecure.
He grew very wroth and confused when the prince asked for the portrait, and explained how it came about that he had spoken of it.
“Oh, curse it all,” he said; “what on earth must you go blabbing for? You know nothing about the thing, and yet — idiot!” he added, muttering the last word to himself in irrepressible rage.
“I am very sorry; I was not thinking at the time. I merely said that Aglaya was almost as beautiful as Nastasia Philipovna.”
Gania asked for