fashion?"

"I?" Mrs. Shaldin laughed innocently. "How could I get the time during
my cure to think of a dress? As a matter of fact, I completely forgot
the ball, thought of it at the last moment, and bought the first piece
of goods I laid my hands on."

"Pink?"

"Oh, no. How can you say pink!"

"Light blue, then?"

"You can't call it exactly light blue. It is a very undefined sort of
colour. I really wouldn't know what to call it."

"But it certainly must have some sort of a shade?"

"You may believe me or not if you choose, but really I don't know.
It's a very indefinite shade."

"Is it Sura silk?"

"No, I can't bear Sura. It doesn't keep the folds well."

"I suppose it is crepe de Chine?"

"Heavens, no! Crepe de Chine is much too expensive for me."

"Then what can it be?"

"Oh, wait a minute, what _is_ the name of that goods? You know there
are so many funny new names now. They don't make any sense."

"Then show me your dress, dearest. Do please show me your dress."

Mrs. Shaldin seemed to be highly embarrassed.

"I am so sorry I can't. It is way down at the bottom of the trunk.
There is the trunk. You see yourself I couldn't unpack it now."

The trunk, close to the wall, was covered with oil cloth and tied
tight with heavy cords. The captain's wife devoured it with her eyes.
She would have liked to see through and through it. She had nothing to
say in reply, because it certainly was impossible to ask her friend,
tired out from her recent journey, to begin to unpack right away and
take out all her things just to show her her new dress. Yet she could
not tear her eyes away from the trunk. There was a magic in it that
held her enthralled. Had she been alone she would have begun to unpack
it herself, nor even have asked the help of a servant to undo the
knots. Now there was nothing left for her but to turn her eyes
sorrowfully away from the fascinating object and take up another topic
of conversation to which she would be utterly indifferent. But she
couldn't think of anything else to talk about. Mrs. Shaldin must have
prepared herself beforehand. She must have suspected something. So now
Mrs. Zarubkin pinned her last hope to Abramka's inventiveness. She
glanced at the clock.

"Dear me," she exclaimed, as if surprised at the lateness of the hour.
"I must be going. I don't want to disturb you any longer either,
dearest. You must be very tired. I hope you rest well."

She shook hands with Mrs. Sha