“Who is the gentleman you wish to introduce to the Countess?” asked Lizaveta Ivanovna in a whisper.

“Narumov.  Do you know him?”

“No.  Is he a soldier or a civilian?”

“A soldier.”

“Is he in the Engineers?”

“No, in the Cavalry.  What made you think that he was in the Engineers?”

The young lady smiled, but made no reply.

“Paul,” cried the Countess from behind the screen, “send me some new novel, only pray don’t let it be one of the present day style.”

“What do you mean, grandmother?”

“That is, a novel, in which the hero strangles neither his father nor his mother, and in which there are no drowned bodies.  I have a great horror of drowned persons.”

“There are no such novels nowadays.  Would you like a Russian one?”

“Are there any Russian novels?  Send me one, my dear, pray send me one!”

“Good-bye, grandmother:  I am in a hurry...  Good-bye, Lizaveta Ivanovna.  What made you think that Narumov was in the Engineers?”

And Tomsky left the boudoir.

Lizaveta Ivanovna was left alone:  she laid aside her work and began to look out of the window.  A few moments afterwards, at a corner house on the other side of the street, a young officer appeared.  A deep blush covered her cheeks; she took up her work again and bent her head down over the frame.  At the same moment the Countess returned completely dressed.

“Order the carriage, Lizaveta,” said she; “we will go out for a drive.”

Lizaveta arose from the frame and began to arrange her work.

“What is the matter with you, my child, are you deaf?” cried the Countess.  “Order the carriage to be got ready at once.”

“I will do so this moment,” replied the young lady, hastening into the ante-room.

A servant entered and gave the Countess some books from Prince Paul Aleksandrovich.

“Tell him that I am much obliged to him,” said the Countess.  “Lizaveta!  Lizaveta!  Where are you running to?”

“I am going to dress.”

“There is plenty of time, my dear.  Sit down here.  Open the first volume and read to me aloud.”

Her companion took the book and read a few lines.

“Louder,” said the Countess.  “What is the matter with you, my child?  Have you lost your voice?  Wait—­give me that footstool—­a little nearer—­that will do.”

Lizaveta read two more pages.  The Countess yawned.

“Put the book down,” said she:  “what a lot of nonsense!  Send it back to Prince Paul with my thanks...  But where is the carriage?”

“The carriage is ready,” said Lizaveta, looking out into the street.

“How is it that you are not dressed?” said the Countess:  “I must always wait for you.  It is intolerable, my dear!”

Liza hastened to her room.  She had not been there two minutes, before the Countess began to ring with all her might.  The three waiting-maids came running in at one door and the valet at another.