asants were not badly off.

'Ah! _Constantin_,' said Darya Mihailovna, when Pandalevsky came into
the drawing-room, 'is _Alexandrine_ coming?'

'Alexandra Pavlovna asked me to thank you, and they will be extremely
delighted,' replied Konstantin Diomiditch, bowing affably in all
directions, and running his plump white hand with its triangular cut
nails through his faultlessly arranged hair.

'And is Volintsev coming too?'

'Yes.'

'So, according to you, African Semenitch,' continued Darya Mihailovna,
turning to Pigasov, 'all young ladies are affected?'

Pigasov's mouth twitched, and he plucked nervously at his elbow.

'I say,' he began in a measured voice--in his most violent moods of
exasperation he always spoke slowly and precisely. 'I say that young
ladies, in general--of present company, of course, I say nothing.'

'But that does not prevent your thinking of them,' put in Darya
Mihailovna.

'I say nothing of them,' repeated Pigasov. 'All young ladies, in
general, are affected to the most extreme point--affected in the
expression of their feelings. If a young lady is frightened, for
instance, or pleased with anything, or distressed, she is certain first
to throw her person into some such elegant attitude (and Pigasov threw
his figure into an unbecoming pose and spread out his hands) and then
she shrieks--ah! or she laughs or cries. I did once though (and here
Pigasov smiled complacently) succeed in eliciting a genuine, unaffected
expression of emotion from a remarkably affected young lady!'

'How did you do that?'

Pigasov's eyes sparkled.

'I poked her in the side with an aspen stake, from behind. She did
shriek, and I said to her, "Bravo, bravo! that's the voice of nature,
that was a genuine shriek! Always do like that for the future!"'

Every one in the room laughed.

'What nonsense you talk, African Semenitch,' cried Darya Mihailovna. 'Am
I to believe that you would poke a girl in the side with a stake!'

'Yes, indeed, with a stake, a very big stake, like those that are used
in the defence of a fort.'

'_Mais c'est un horreur ce que vous dites la, Monsieur_,' cried Mlle.
Boncourt, looking angrily at the boys, who were in fits of laughter.

'Oh, you mustn't believe him,' said Darya Mihailovna. 'Don't you know
him?'

But the offended French lady could not be pacified for a long while, and
kept muttering something to herself.

'You need not believe me,' continued Pigasov coolly, 'but I assure