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to him. ‘I was combing his hair just now; his hair’s like flax,
and so thick..’
And, bending over him tenderly, she kissed his forehead.
Kalgonov instantly opened his eyes, looked at her, stood up,
and with the most anxious air inquired where was Maxi-
mov?
‘So that’s who it is you want.’ Grushenka laughed. ‘Stay
with me a minute. Mitya, run and find his Maximov.’
Maximov, it appeared, could not tear himself away from
the girls, only running away from time to time to pour
himself out a glass of liqueur. He had drunk two cups of
chocolate. His face was red, and his nose was crimson; his
eyes were moist, and mawkishly sweet.He ran up and an-
nounced that he was going to dance the ‘sabotiere.’
‘They taught me all those well-bred, aristocratic dances
when I was little..’
‘Go, go with him, Mitya, and I’ll watch from here how he
dances,’ said Grushenka.
‘No, no, I’m coming to look on, too,’ exclaimed Kalganov,
brushing aside in the most naive way Grushenka’s offer to
sit with him. They all went to look on. Maximov danced
his dance. But it roused no great admiration in anyone but
Mitya. It consisted of nothing but skipping and hopping,
kicking the feet, and at every skip Maximov slapped the up-
turned sole of his foot. Kalgonov did not like it at all, but
Mitya kissed the dancer.
‘Thanks. You’re tired perhaps? What are you looking for
here? Would you like some sweets? A cigar, perhaps?’
‘A cigarette.’