“The Princess Barbara Ilinitsha!” announced one of the two footmen who used to stand behind Grandmamma’s carriage, but Grandmamma was looking thoughtfully at the portrait on the snuff-box, and returned no answer.

“Shall I show her in, madam?” repeated the footman.

XVII —­ THE PRINCESS KORNAKOFF

“Yes, show her in,” said Grandmamma, settling herself as far back in her arm-chair as possible.  The Princess was a woman of about forty-five, small and delicate, with a shrivelled skin and disagreeable, greyish-green eyes, the expression of which contradicted the unnaturally suave look of the rest of her face.  Underneath her velvet bonnet, adorned with an ostrich feather, was visible some reddish hair, while against the unhealthy colour of her skin her eyebrows and eyelashes looked even lighter and redder that they would other wise have done.  Yet, for all that, her animated movements, small hands, and peculiarly dry features communicated something aristocratic and energetic to her general appearance.  She talked a great deal, and, to judge from her eloquence, belonged to that class of persons who always speak as though some one were contradicting them, even though no one else may be saying a word.  First she would raise her voice, then lower it and then take on a fresh access of vivacity as she looked at the persons present, but not participating in the conversation, with an air of endeavouring to draw them into it.

Although the Princess kissed Grandmamma’s hand and repeatedly called her “my good Aunt,” I could see that Grandmamma did not care much about her, for she kept raising her eyebrows in a peculiar way while listening to the Princess’s excuses why Prince Michael had been prevented from calling, and congratulating Grandmamma “as he would like so-much to have done.”  At length, however, she answered the Princess’s French with Russian, and with a sharp accentuation of certain words.

“I am much obliged to you for your kindness,” she said.  “As for Prince Michael’s absence, pray do not mention it.  He has so much else to do.  Besides, what pleasure could he find in coming to see an old woman like me?” Then, without allowing the Princess time to reply, she went on:  “How are your children my dear?”

“Well, thank God, Aunt, they grow and do their lessons and play—­particularly my eldest one, Etienne, who is so wild that it is almost impossible to keep him in order.  Still, he is a clever and promising boy.  Would you believe it, cousin,” (this last to Papa, since Grandmamma altogether uninterested in the Princess’s children, had turned to us, taken my verses out from beneath the presentation box, and unfolded them again), “would you believe it, but one day not long ago—­” and leaning over towards Papa, the Princess related something or other with great vivacity.  Then, her tale concluded, she laughed, and, with a questioning look at Papa, went on: