“Well, how soon are you going to leave us?”

“Yes, this is the last day.  That is why we came here.”

“Such a beautiful spring!  How pleasant it is in the country!”

Missy in her hat and some dark, striped dress which clasped her waist without a wrinkle, was very pretty.  She blushed when she saw Nekhludoff.

“I thought you had left the city,” she said to him.

“Almost.  Business keeps me here.  I come here also for business.”

“Call on mamma.  She is very anxious to see you,” she said, and, feeling that she was lying, and that he understood it, her face turned a still deeper purple.

“I shall hardly have the time,” gloomily answered Nekhludoff, pretending not to see that she was blushing.

Missy frowned angrily, shrugged her shoulders, and turned to an elegant officer, who took from her hands the empty teacup and valiantly carried it to another table, his sword striking every object it encountered.

“You must also contribute toward the asylum.”

“I am not refusing, only I wish to keep my contribution for the lottery.  There I will show all my liberality.”

“Don’t forget, now,” a plainly dissimulating laugh was heard.

The reception day was brilliant, and Anna Ignatievna was delighted.

“Mika told me that you busy yourself in the prisons.  I understand it very well,” she said to Nekhludoff.  “Mika”—­she meant her stout husband, Maslenikoff—­“may have his faults, but you know that he is kind.  All these unfortunate prisoners are his children.  He does not look on them in any other light.  Il est d’une bonte——­”

She stopped, not finding words to express bonte of a husband, and immediately, smiling, turned to an old, wrinkled woman in lilac-colored bows who had just entered.

Having talked as much and as meaninglessly as it was necessary to preserve the decorum, Nekhludoff arose and went over to Maslenikoff.

“Will you please hear me now?”

“Ah! yes.  Well, what is it?”

“Come in here.”

They entered a small Japanese cabinet and seated themselves near the window.

CHAPTER LVI.

“Well, je suis a vous.  Will you smoke a cigarette?  But wait; we must not soil the things here,” and he brought an ash-holder.  “Well?”

“I want two things of you.”

“Is that so?”

Maslenikoff’s face became gloomy and despondent.  All traces of that animation of the little dog whom its master had scratched under the ears entirely disappeared.  Voices came from the reception-room.  One, a woman’s voice, said:  “Jamais, jamais je ne croirais;” another, a man’s voice from the other corner, was telling something, constantly repeating:  “La Comtesse Vorouzoff” and “Victor Apraksine.”  From the third side only a humming noise mingled with laughter was heard.  Maslenikoff listened to the voices; so did Nekhludoff.