Lopukhóf again made a profound bow. Two of the gentlemen took their turn in cutting in. At the third quadrille Lopukhóf asked Viérotchka. The first she had danced with Mikhaïl Ivanuitch; the second he danced with the lively girl.
Lopukhóf had been watching Viérotchka, and was now absolutely convinced of the mistake in his former idea of her being a heartless girl, coolly marrying for money a man whom she despised. He saw before him an ordinary young girl, who dances and laughs with her whole soul. Yes, to Viérotchka's shame be it said that she was an ordinary girl who loved to dance. At first she set her face firmly against the party; but when the party was arranged—small, without any show, and consequently not a trial to her—even she, in a way that she would never have believed, forgot her melancholy. At her time of life one does not like to be melancholy; but liveliness and gayety are so natural that the least chance of self-forgetfulness brings also, for a time, forgetfulness of sorrow. Lopukhóf was now inclined in her favor, but as yet there were a good many things not clear to him.
He was getting interested in Viérotchka's anomalous position.
"Monsieur Lopukhóf, I never expected to see you dancing," she began.
"Why not? Is it so hard to dance?"
"For most people certainly it is not; but for you, why—yes—of course it is."
"Why for me?"
"Because I know your secret—yours and Feódor's; you despise women!"
"Feódor did not in the least understand my secret. I don't despise women, but I avoid them; and do you know why? I have a bride,—a very jealous one,—who, in order to compel me to avoid them, told me their secret."
"You have a bride?"
"Yes!"
"How surprising! A student, and already engaged! Is she pretty? Are you in love with her?"
"Yes, she is a beauty, and I love her very dearly."
"Is she a brunetka or a blondinka?"
"I cannot tell you that; it is a secret!"
"Well, God be with her, if it is a secret! But what was
