How could I not know everything that concerns your family? Indeed I do know it.’

‘Do you think he’ll come to see us?’

‘It must be supposed he will; yet it’s said he’s intending to go to his own house in the country.’

Marya Dmitrievna raised her eyes heavenwards.

‘Ah, Sergey Petrovich, Sergey Petrovich, when I consider how careful we women must be in how we behave!’

‘Not all women are the same, Marya Dmitrievna. There are unfortunately those of inconstant temperament… and of course those of a certain age. And again there are those who have not been taught the rules when they were little.’ (Sergey Petrovich drew a blue check handkerchief out of his pocket and began to unfold it.) ‘Such women do exist, of course.’ (Sergey Petrovich raised a corner of the handkerchief to each eye in turn.) ‘But generally speaking, if one considers, that is… There’s an extraordinary amount of dust in town today,’ he concluded.

‘Maman, maman,’ cried a pretty little girl of eleven, running into the room, ‘Vladimir Nikolaich is coming to visit us on horseback!’

Marya Dmitrievna rose. Sergey Petrovich rose also, bowed, said: ‘Our most humble respects to Elena Mikhaylovna,’ and, withdrawing into a corner out of politeness, proceeded to blow his long straight nose.

‘What a wonderful horse he has!’ the little girl continued. ‘He was by the gate a moment ago and told Liza and me he’d ride right up to the porch.’

A clatter of hooves was heard outside, and the well-knit figure of a rider on a beautiful bay horse appeared in the street and stopped before the open window.

III

‘GOOD DAY, Marya Dmitrievna!’ exclaimed the rider in a resonant and pleasant voice, ‘How do you like my new purchase?’

Marya Dmitrievna approached the window.

‘How do you do, Woldemar! Oh, what a splendid horse! Who did you buy it from?’

‘From the remount man. He charged me dearly for it, the thief.’

‘What do you call it?’

‘Orlando…. But it’s a stupid name; I want to change it…. Eh bien, eh bien, mon garçon.… How restless he is!’

The horse was snorting, prancing and tossing its foam-flecked muzzle.

‘Lenochka, stroke him, don’t be afraid…’

The little girl stretched her hand out of the window, but Orlando suddenly reared up on his hind legs and shied away. The rider did not lose control, gripped the horse with his legs, drew his whip against his neck and, despite his resistance, brought him back again in front of the window.

‘Prenez garde, prenez garde,’ Marya Dmitrievna urged repeatedly.

‘Lenochka, stroke him,’ said the rider. ‘I won’t let him get out of hand.’

The little girl again stretched out her hand and shyly touched the quivering nostrils of an Orlando who ceaselessly trembled and champed.

‘Bravo!’ exclaimed Marya Dmitrievna. ‘Now get down and come in and see us.’

The rider swiftly turned the horse, pressed in his spurs and, after galloping a short way along the street, rode into the yard. A moment later, waving his whip, he ran through the hall door into the drawing-room; at that very instant a graceful, tall, dark-haired girl of about nineteen appeared in another doorway – Marya Dmitrievna’s elder daughter, Liza.

IV

THE young man, with whom we have just acquainted our readers, was called Vladimir Nikolaich Panshin. He was serving in St Petersburg as an official in the special duties department of the Ministry of Internal Affairs. He had come to the town of O… on a temporary official assignment and was at the disposal of the Governor, General Sonnenberg, to whom he was distantly related. Panshin’s father, a retired cavalry captain and notorious gambler, a man with sugary eyes, wrinkled face and nervously twitching lips, had spent all his life among the aristocracy, frequenting the English Clubs of both capitals and having a reputation as a clever, not very reliable, but nice and jovial fellow. Despite his cleverness he was practically always on the very brink of penury and left his only son paltry and chaotic material means. On the other hand, after his own fashion he did take trouble over his son’s education: Vladimir Nikolaich could speak French beautifully, English well and German badly. Which is as it should be: decent people are ashamed of speaking German well, but the art of dropping a German word into one’s conversation at certain, usually humorous, moments – c’est même très chic, as our St Petersburg Parisians express it. From fifteen years of age Vladimir Nikolaich knew how to enter any drawing-room without embarrassment, engage in pleasant chit-chat and withdraw at the right moment. Panshin’s father had gained his son many connexions. Shuffling cards between rubbers or after a winning grand slam, he never let pass the opportunity of dropping in a word about his ‘little Volodya’ to one or another of those important people who liked to play cards for financial gain. For his own part, Vladimir Nikolaich during his university years (he graduated without distinction) became acquainted with several aristocratic young men and began to be received in the best houses. He was always treated as a welcome guest; he was not at all bad-looking, gay, entertaining, always in good health and ready for anything; respectful whenever necessary, scathing whenever possible, an excellent comrade, un charmant garçon. The promised land of high society spread out before him. Panshin soon learned the secret of such a life; he learned how to imbue himself with real respect for its rules, how to talk nonsense with quasi-facetious importance and give the impression of considering everything important to be nonsense, how to dance to perfection and dress in the English style. In a short time he passed as one of the most delightful and clever young men in St Petersburg. Panshin was indeed very clever, no less than his father; but he was also very gifted. Everything came to him easily: he could sing nicely, make lively sketches, write verse and act a part far from badly on the stage. He was only in his twenty-eighth year and already the holder of a post at court with an exceptionally high rank in the civil service. Panshin believed firmly in his own powers, in his intelligence and his perception; he went ahead boldly and joyously, at full speed, and his life was all plain sailing.