"I've known of it a long time; I telegraphed to Moscow to inquire, and heard long ago that the money had not arrived.He hadn't sent the money, but I said nothing.Last week I learnt that he was still in need of money.My only object in all this was that he should know to whom to turn, and who was his true friend.No, he won't recognise that I am his truest friend; he won't know me, and looks on me merely as a woman.I've been tormented all the week, trying to think how to prevent him from being ashamed to face me because he spent that three thousand.Let him feel ashamed of himself, let him be ashamed of other people's knowing, but not of my knowing.He can tell God everything without shame.Why is it he still does not understand how much I am ready to bear for his sake? Why, why doesn't he know me? How dare he not know me after all that has happened? I want to save him for ever.Let him forget me as his betrothed.And here he fears that he is dishonoured in my eyes.Why, he wasn't afraid to be open with you, Alexey Fyodorovitch.How is it that I don't deserve the same?"The last words she uttered in tears.Tears gushed from her eyes.
"I must tell you," Alyosha began, his voice trembling too, "what happened just now between him and my father."And he described the whole scene, how Dmitri had sent him to get the money, how he had broken in, knocked his father down, and after that had again specially and emphatically begged him to take his compliments and farewell."He went to that woman," Alyosha added softly.
"And do you suppose that I can't put up with that woman? Does he think I can't? But he won't marry her," she suddenly laughed nervously."Could such a passion last for ever in a Karamazov? It's passion, not love.He won't marry her because she won't marry him."Again Katerina Ivanovna laughed strangely.
"He may marry her," said Alyosha mournfully, looking down.
"He won't marry her, I tell you.That girl is an angel.Do you know that? Do you know that?" Katerina Ivanovna exclaimed suddenly with extraordinary warmth."She is one of the most fantastic of fantastic creatures.I know how bewitching she is, but I know too that she is kind, firm, and noble.Why do you look at me like that, Alexey Fyodorovitch? Perhaps you are wondering at my words, perhaps you don't believe me? Agrafena Alexandrovna, my angel!" she cried suddenly to someone, peeping into the next room, "come in to us.
This is a friend.This is Alyosha.He knows all about our affairs.
Show yourself to him."
"I've only been waiting behind the curtain for you to call me,"said a soft, one might even say sugary, feminine voice.
The portiere was raised and Grushenka herself, smiling and beaming, came up to the table.A violent revulsion passed over Alyosha.He fixed his eyes on her and could not take them off.Here she was, that awful woman, the "beast," as Ivan had called her half an hour before.And yet one would have thought the creature standing before him most simple and ordinary, a good-natured, kind woman, handsome certainly, but so like other handsome ordinary women! It is true she was very, very good-looking with that Russian beauty so passionately loved by many men.She was a rather tall woman, though a little shorter than Katerina Ivanovna, who was exceptionally tall.
She had a full figure, with soft, as it were, noiseless, movements, softened to a peculiar over-sweetness, like her voice.She moved, not like Katerina Ivanovna, with a vigorous, bold step, but noiselessly.Her feet made absolutely no sound on the floor.She sank softly into a low chair, softly rustling her sumptuous black silk dress, and delicately nestling her milk-white neck and broad shoulders in a costly cashmere shawl.She was twenty-two years old, and her face looked exactly that age.She was very white in the face, with a pale pink tint on her cheeks.The modelling of her face might be said to be too broad, and the lower jaw was set a trifle forward.Her upper lip was thin, but the slightly prominent lower lip was at least twice as full, and looked pouting.But her magnificent, abundant dark brown hair, her sable-coloured eyebrows and charming greyblue eyes with their long lashes would have made the most indifferent person, meeting her casually in a crowd in the street, stop at the sight of her face and remember it long after.What struck Alyosha most in that face was its expression of childlike good nature.There was a childlike look in her eyes, a look of childish delight.She came up to the table, beaming with delight and seeming to expect something with childish, impatient, and confiding curiosity.The light in her eyes gladdened the soul- Alyosha felt that.There was something else in her which he could not understand, or would not have been able to define, and which yet perhaps unconsciously affected him.It was that softness, that voluptuousness of her bodily movements, that catlike noiselessness.Yet it was a vigorous, ample body.Under the shawl could be seen full broad shoulders, a high, still quite girlish bosom.Her figure suggested the lines of the Venus of Milo, though already in somewhat exaggerated proportions.That could be divined.Connoisseurs of Russian beauty could have foretold with certainty that this fresh, still youthful beauty would lose its harmony by the age of thirty, would "spread"; that the face would become puffy, and that wrinkles would very soon appear upon her forehead and round the eyes; the complexion would grow coarse and red perhaps- in fact, that it was the beauty of the moment, the fleeting beauty which is so often met with in Russian women.
