his claws; she teased him with her finger-tip; then sank into a low lounge, and, taking from a carved round table the last number of the Revue des Deux Mondes, she began to skim its pages.
A respectful cough made her look round. In the doorway stood a handsome footman in livery and a white cravat.
'What is it, Agafon?' inquired Valentina Mihalovna, still in the same soft voice.
'Semyon Petrovitch Kallomyetsev is here. Shall I show him up?'
'Ask him up, of course. And send word to Marianna Vikentyevna to come down to the drawing-room.'
Valentina Mihalovna flung the Revue des Deux Mondes on a little table, and, leaning back on the lounge, she turned her eyes upwards and looked thoughtful, which suited her extremely.
From the very way Semyon Petrovitch Kallomyetsev, a young man of two-and-thirty, entered the room, easily, carelessly, and languidly, from the way he suddenly beamed politely, bowed a little on one side, and drew himself up like elastic afterwards, from the way he spoke, half-condescendingly, half-affectedly, respectfully took Valentina Mihalovna's hand, and effusively kissed it─from all this one
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