Even the clock was silent . . . it seemed as though the Princess Tarakanov had fallen asleep in the golden frame, and the water and the rats were still and motionless through magic.  The daylight, afraid of disturbing the universal tranquillity, scarcely pierced through the lowered blinds, and lay on the soft rugs in pale, slumbering streaks.

Three minutes passed and a big, elderly woman in black, with her cheek bandaged up, walked noiselessly into the drawing-room.  She bowed to me and pulled up the blinds.  At once, enveloped in the bright sunlight, the rats and water in the picture came to life and movement, Princess Tarakanov was awakened, and the old chairs frowned gloomily.

“Her honour will be here in a minute, sir . . .” sighed the old lady, frowning too.

A few more minutes of waiting and I saw Nadyezhda Lvovna.  What struck me first of all was that she certainly was ugly, short, scraggy, and round-shouldered.  Her thick, chestnut hair was magnificent; her face, pure and with a look of culture in it, was aglow with youth; there was a clear and intelligent expression in her eyes; but the whole charm of her head was lost through the thickness of her lips and the over-acute facial angle.

I mentioned my name, and announced the object of my visit.

“I really don’t know what I am to say!” she said, in hesitation, dropping her eyes and smiling.  “I don’t like to refuse, and at the same time. . . .”

“Do, please,” I begged.

Nadyezhda Lvovna looked at me and laughed.  I laughed too.  She was probably amused by what Grontovsky had so enjoyed—­that is, the right of giving or withholding permission; my visit suddenly struck me as queer and strange.

“I don’t like to break the long-established rules,” said Madame Kandurin.  “Shooting has been forbidden on our estate for the last six years.  No!” she shook her head resolutely.  “Excuse me, I must refuse you.  If I allow you I must allow others.  I don’t like unfairness.  Either let all or no one.”

“I am sorry!” I sighed.  “It’s all the sadder because we have come more than ten miles.  I am not alone,” I added, “Prince Sergey Ivanitch is with me.”

I uttered the prince’s name with no arriere pensee, not prompted by any special motive or aim; I simply blurted it out without thinking, in the simplicity of my heart.  Hearing the familiar name Madame Kandurin started, and bent a prolonged gaze upon me.  I noticed her nose turn pale.

“That makes no difference . . .” she said, dropping her eyes.

As I talked to her I stood at the window that looked out on the shrubbery.  I could see the whole shrubbery with the avenues and the ponds and the road by which I had come.  At the end of the road, beyond the gates, the back of our chaise made a dark patch.  Near the gate, with his back to the house, the prince was standing with his legs apart, talking to the lanky Grontovsky.