e expressed
her confusion. Volintsev, who was sitting near her, got up too.

'I see a piano,' began Rudin, with the gentle courtesy of a travelling
prince; 'don't you play on it?'

'Yes, I play,' replied Natalya, 'but not very well. Here is Konstantin
Diomiditch plays much better than I do.'

Pandalevsky put himself forward with a simper. 'You should not say that,
Natalya Alexyevna; your playing is not at all inferior to mine.'

'Do you know Schubert's "Erlkonig"?' asked Rudin.

'He knows it, he knows it!' interposed Darya Mihailovna. 'Sit down,
Konstantin. You are fond of music, Dmitri Nikolaitch?'

Rudin only made a slight motion of the head and ran his hand through his
hair, as though disposing himself to listen. Pandalevsky began to play.

Natalya was standing near the piano, directly facing Rudin. At the first
sound his face was transfigured. His dark blue eyes moved slowly about,
from time to time resting upon Natalya. Pandalevsky finished playing.

Rudin said nothing and walked up to the open window. A fragrant mist
lay like a soft shroud over the garden; a drowsy scent breathed from
the trees near. The stars shed a mild radiance. The summer night was
soft--and softened all. Rudin gazed into the dark garden, and looked
round.

'That music and this night,' he began, 'reminded me of my student days
in Germany; our meetings, our serenades.'

'You have been in Germany then?' said Darya Mihailovna.

'I spent a year at Heidelberg, and nearly a year at Berlin.'

'And did you dress as a student? They say they wear a special dress
there.'

'At Heidelberg I wore high boots with spurs, and a hussar's jacket
with braid on it, and I let my hair grow to my shoulders. In Berlin the
students dress like everybody else.'

'Tell us something of your student life,' said Alexandra Pavlovna.

Rudin complied. He was not altogether successful in narrative. There
was a lack of colour in his descriptions. He did not know how to be
humorous. However, from relating his own adventures abroad, Rudin soon
passed to general themes, the special value of education and science,
universities, and university life generally. He sketched in a large and
comprehensive picture in broad and striking lines. All listened to him
with profound attention. His eloquence was masterly and attractive, not
altogether clear, but even this want of clearness added a special charm
to his words.

The exuberance of his thought hindered Rudin from expre