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the colonel, and reported to him his success, or non-success. The colo-
nel, thinking it all over, made up his mind not to pursue the matter
further, but then for his own satisfaction proceeded to cross-examine
Vronsky about his interview; and it was a long while before he could
restrain his laughter, as Vronsky described how the government clerk,
after subsiding for a while, would suddenly flare up again, as he re-
called the details, and how Vronsky, at the last half word of conciliation,
skillfully maneuvered a retreat, shoving Petritsky out before him.
“It’s a disgraceful story, but killing. Kedrov really can’t fight the
gentleman! Was he so awfully hot?” he commented, laughing. “But
what do you say to Claire today? She’s marvelous,” he went on, speak-
ing of a new French actress. “However often you see her, every day
she’s different. It’s only the French who can to that.”
Chapter 6.
Princess Betsy drove home from the theater, without waiting for
the end of the last act. She had only just time to go into her dressing
room, sprinkle her long, pale face with powder, rub it, set her dress to
rights, and order tea in the big drawing room, when one after another
carriages drove up to her huge house in Bolshaia Morskaia. Her guests
stepped out at the wide entrance, and the stout porter, who used to
read the newspapers in the mornings behind the glass door, to the
edification of the passers-by, noiselessly opened the immense door,
letting the visitors pass by him into the house.
Almost at the same instant the hostess, with freshly arranged coif-
fure and freshened face, walked in at one door and her guests at the
other door of the drawing room, a large room with dark walls, downy
rugs, and a brightly lighted table, gleaming with the light of candles,
white cloth, silver samovar, and transparent china tea things.
The hostess sat down at the table and took off her gloves. Chairs
were set with the aid of footmen, moving almost imperceptibly about
the room; the party settled itself, divided into two groups: one round
the samovar near the hostess, the other at the opposite end of the
drawing room, round the handsome wife of an ambassador, in black
velvet, with sharply defined black eyebrows. In both groups conversa-
tion wavered, as it always does, for the first few minutes, broken up by