ely watched by the grey-eyed,
round-faced, arch-browed Zoe, mercilessly bedaubed with cheap rouges
and whiteners, leaning with her elbows on the pianoforte, and the
slight Vera, with drink-ravaged face, in the costume of a jockey--in a
round little cap with straight brim, in a little silk jacket, striped
blue and white, in tightly stretched trunks and in little patent
leather boots with yellow facings. And really, Vera does resemble a
jockey, with her narrow face, in which the exceedingly sparkling blue
eyes, under a smart bob coming down on the forehead, are set too near
the humped, nervous, very handsome nose. When, at last, after long
efforts the musicians agree, the somewhat small Verka walks up to the
large Zoe, in that mincing, tethered walk, the hind part sticking out,
and elbows spread as though for flight, with which only women in male
costume can walk, and makes a comical masculine bow to her, spreading
her arms wide and lowering them. And, with great enjoyment, they begin
careering over the room.

The nimble Niura, always the first to announce all the news, suddenly
jumps down from the window sill, and calls out, spluttering from the
excitement and hurry:

"A swell carriage...has driven up...to Treppel ...with electricity...
Oi, goils...may I die on the spot...there's electricity on the shafts."

All the girls, save the proud Jennie, thrust themselves out of the
windows. A driver with a fine carriage is indeed standing near the
Treppel entrance. His brand-new, dashing victoria glistens with new
lacquer; at the ends of the shafts two tiny electric lights burn with a
yellow light; the tall white horse, with a bare pink spot on the septum
of its nose, shakes its handsome head, shifts its feet on the same
spot, and pricks up its thin ears; the bearded, stout driver himself
sits on the coach-box like a carven image, his arms stretched out
straight along his knees.

"Oh, for a ride!" squeals Niura. "Oh, uncle! Oh you swell coachman!"
she cries out, hanging over the window sill. "Give a poor little girlie
a ride... Give us a ride for love."

But the swell coachman laughs, makes a scarcely noticeable movement
with his fingers, and immediately the white horse, as though it had
been waiting just for that, starts from its place at a goodly trot,
handsomely turns around and with measured speed floats away into the
darkness together with the victoria and the broad back of the coachman.

"Pfui! What indecency!" the