[Footnote A:  “A bumper.”]

[Footnote B:  A degree a little inferior to that of Bachelor of Arts.]

Panshine really was very adroit—­not less so than his father had been.  And besides this, he was endowed with no small talent; nothing was too difficult for him.  He sang pleasantly, drew confidently, could write poetry, and acted remarkably well.

He was now only in his twenty eighth year, but he was already a Chamberlain, and he had arrived at a highly respectable rank in the service.  He had thorough confidence in himself, in his intellect, and in his sagacity.  He went onwards under full sail, boldly and cheerfully; the stream of his life flowed smoothly along.  He was accustomed to please every one, old and young alike; and he imagined that he thoroughly understood his fellow-creatures, especially women—­that he was intimately acquainted with all their ordinary weaknesses.

As one who was no stranger to Art, he felt within him a certain enthusiasm, a glow, a rapture, in consequence of which he claimed for himself various exemptions from ordinary rules.  He led a somewhat irregular life, he made acquaintance with people who were not received into society, and in general he behaved in an unconventional and unceremonious manner.  But in his heart of hearts he was cold and astute; and even in the midst of his most extravagant rioting, his keen hazel eye watched and took note of every thing.  It was impossible for this daring and unconventional youth ever quite to forget himself, or to be thoroughly carried away.  It should be mentioned to his credit, by the way, that he never boasted of his victories.  To Maria Dmitrievna’s house he had obtained access as soon as he arrived in O., and he soon made himself thoroughly at home in it.  As to Maria Dmitrievna herself, she thought there was nobody in the world to be compared with him.

Panshine bowed in an engaging manner to all the occupants of the room; shook hands with Maria Dmitrievna and Elizaveta Mikhailovna, lightly tapped Gedeonovsky on the shoulder, and, turning on his heels, took Lenochka’s head between his hands and kissed her on the forehead.

“Are not you afraid to ride such a vicious horse?” asked Maria Dmitrievna.

“I beg your pardon, it is perfectly quiet.  No, but I will tell you what I really am afraid of.  I am afraid of playing at preference with Sergius Petrovich.  Yesterday, at the Bielenitsines’, he won all the money I had with me.”

Gedeonovsky laughed a thin and cringing laugh; he wanted to gain the good graces of the brilliant young official from St. Petersburg, the governor’s favorite.  In his conversations with Maria Dmitrievna, he frequently spoke of Panshine’s remarkable faculties.  “Why, really now, how can one help praising him?” he used to reason.  “The young man is a success in the highest circles of society, and at the same time he does his work in the most perfect manner, and he isn’t the least bit proud.”