women do not indulge in such romances. Secondly, she was not a servant. That was proved unmistakably by the rustle of her dress, the scent, the voice...
When at first he looked at the girl in lilac she pleased him; she had pretty shoulders and arms, a clever face, a charming voice, Riabovitch piously prayed that it was she. But, smiling insincerely, she wrinkled her long nose, and that at once gave her an elderly air. So Riabovitch turned his eyes on the blonde in black. The blonde was younger, simpler, sincerer; she had charming kiss-curls, and drank from her tumbler with inexpressible grace. Riabovitch hoped it was she — but soon he noticed that her face was flat, and bent his eyes on her neighbour.
"It is a hopeless puzzle," he reflected. "If you take the arms and shoulders of the lilac girl, add the blonde's curls, and the eyes of the girl on Lobuitko's left, then —"
He composed a portrait of all these charms, and had a clear vision of the girl who had kissed him. But she was nowhere to be seen.
Supper over, the visitors, sated and tipsy, bade their entertainers good-bye. Both host and hostess again apologised for not asking them to spend the night.
"I am very, very glad, gentlemen!" said the
