ski,
sometimes Madame de * * *, _cette grande dame Russe si distinguee, qui
demeure rue de P----_, and describing to the whole world, that is to
say to some few hundreds of subscribers, who had nothing whatever to
do with Madame de L ... tski, how loveable and charming was that lady,
_une vraie francaise par l'esprit_,--the French have no higher
praise than this,--what an extraordinary musician she was, and how
wonderfully she waltzed. (Varvara Pavlovna did really waltz so as to
allure all hearts to the skirt of her light, floating robe.) In fact,
he spread her fame abroad throughout the world; and this we know,
whatever people may say, is pleasant.

Mademoiselle Mars had by that time quitted the stage, and Mademoiselle
Rachel had not yet appeared there; but for all that Varvara Pavlovna
none the less assiduously attended the theatres. She went into
raptures about Italian music, and laughed over the ruins of Odry,
yawned in a becoming manner at the legitimate drama, and cried at the
sight of Madame Dorval's acting in some ultra-melodramatic piece.
Above all, Liszt played at her house twice, and was so gracious, so
unaffected! It was charming!

Amid such pleasurable sensations passed the winter, at the end of
which Varvara Pavlovna was even presented at Court. As for Fedor
Ivanovich, he was not exactly bored, but life began to weigh heavily
on his shoulders at times--heavily because of its very emptiness. He
read the papers, he listened to the lectures at the _Sorbonne_ and
the _College de France_, he followed the debates in the Chambers,
he occupied himself in translating a famous scientific work on
irrigation. "I am not wasting my time," he thought; "all this is of
use; but next winter I really must return to Russia, and betake myself
to active business." It would be hard to say if he had any clear idea
of what were the special characteristics of that business, and only
Heaven could tell whether he was likely to succeed in getting back to
Russia in the winter. In the meanwhile he was intending to go with his
wife to Baden. But an unexpected occurrence upset all his plans.

XVI.

One day when he happened to go into Varvara Pavlovna's boudoir during
her absence, Lavretsky saw a carefully folded little piece of paper
lying on the floor. Half mechanically he picked it up and opened
it--and read the following lines written in French:--

* * * * *

"MY DEAR ANGEL BETTY,

"(I r