to talk to her about. When my silence was prolonged too much, I became frightened lest she should take me for a fool, and I decided to free her from such a delusion, at whatever cost. "Vous êtes une habitante de Moscou?" said I to her and, after an affirmative answer, continued: "Et moi, je n'ai encore jamais fréquenté la capitale," calculating particularly on the effect of the word fréquenter. I felt, however, that, though the beginning was very brilliant, and gave complete proof of my superior knowledge of French, I was not able to continue the conversation in that strain. It was still some time before our turn to dance would come, and the silence was renewed. I looked in anguish at her, wishing to know what impression I had made, and expecting her to help me.
"Where did you find such a killing glove?" she suddenly asked me. This question afforded me great pleasure and relief. I explained that the glove belonged to Karl Ivánovich, and somewhat ironically expatiated on his person, telling her how funny he was when he took off his red cap, and how he once, dressed in a green wadded coat, fell from his horse straight into a puddle, and so on. The quadrille passed unnoticed. All that was very well. But why did I refer to Karl Ivánovich in derision? Should I have lost Sónichka's good opinion if I had described him to her with all the love and respect which I felt for him?
When the quadrille was over, Sónichka said "Merci" to me with as sweet an expression as if I really had earned her gratitude. I was in ecstasy, all beside myself with joy, and could not recognize myself: whence came my courage, confidence, and even boldness? "There is not a thing that could confuse me," thought I, carelessly walking up and down the parlour; "I am ready for everything."
Serézha proposed to me to be his vis-à-vis. "All right," said I, "although I have no lady, I will find one." Casting a searching glance over the whole parlour, I noticed that
