'Yes.'
'And what is she? May I know?'
'Certainly. She is a confectioner's daughter.'
Maria Nikolaevna opened her eyes wide and lifted her eyebrows.
'Why, this is delightful,' she commented in a drawling voice; 'this is exquisite! I imagined that young men like you were not to be met with anywhere in these days. A confectioner's daughter!'
'I see that surprises you,' observed Sanin with some dignity; 'but in the first place, I have none of these prejudices . . .'
'In the first place, it doesn't surprise me in the least,' Maria Nikolaevna interrupted; 'I have no prejudices either. I 'm the daughter of a peasant myself. There! what can you say to that? What does surprise and delight me is to have come across a man who's not afraid to love. You do love her, I suppose?'
'Yes.'
'Is she very pretty?'
Sanin was slightly stung by this last question.. . . However, there was no drawing back.
'You know, Maria Nikolaevna,' he began, 'every man thinks the face of his beloved better than all others; but my betrothed is really beautiful.'
'Really? In what style? Italian? antique?'
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