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"In the first place, Sofya Semyonovna, will you make my excuses

to your respected mamma.... That's right, isn't it? Katerina

Ivanovna stands in the place of a mother to you?" Pyotr

Petrovitch began with great dignity, though affably.

It was evident that his intentions were friendly.

"Quite so, yes; the place of a mother," Sonia answered, timidly

and hurriedly.

"Then will you make my apologies to her? Through inevitable

circumstances I am forced to be absent and shall not be at the

dinner in spite of your mamma's kind invitation."

"Yes... I'll tell her... at once."

And Sonia hastily jumped up from her seat.

"Wait, that's not all," Pyotr Petrovitch detained her, smiling at

her simplicity and ignorance of good manners, "and you know me

little, my dear Sofya Semyonovna, if you suppose I would have

ventured to trouble a person like you for a matter of so little

consequence affecting myself only. I have another object."