hand resting
on the back of a chair, and after each bow he tossed back his hair
exactly like Liszt! At last, after a decidedly long intermission, the
red cloth over the door at the rear of the platform moved, was drawn
widely apart, and Clara Militch made her appearance. The hall rang with
applause. With unsteady steps she approached the front of the platform,
came to a halt, and stood motionless, with her large, red, ungloved
hands crossed in front of her, making no curtsey, neither bending her
head nor smiling.

She was a girl of nineteen, tall, rather broad-shouldered, but well
built. Her face was swarthy, partly Hebrew, partly Gipsy in type; her
eyes were small and black beneath thick brows which almost met, her nose
was straight, slightly up-turned, her lips were thin with a beautiful
but sharp curve; she had a huge braid of black hair, which was heavy
even to the eye, a low, impassive, stony brow, tiny ears ... her whole
countenance was thoughtful, almost surly. A passionate, self-willed
nature,--not likely to be either kindly or even intelligent,--but
gifted, was manifested by everything about her.

For a while she did not raise her eyes, but suddenly gave a start and
sent her intent but not attentive glance, which seemed to be buried in
herself, along the rows of spectators.

"What tragic eyes!" remarked a certain grey-haired fop, who sat behind
Aratoff, with the face of a courtesan from Revel,--one of Moscow's
well-known first-nighters and rounders. The fop was stupid and intended
to utter a bit of nonsense ... but he had spoken the truth! Aratoff, who
had never taken his eyes from Clara since she had made her appearance,
only then recalled that he actually had seen her at the Princess's; and
had not only seen her, but had even noticed that she had several times
looked at him with particular intentness out of her dark, watchful eyes.
And on this occasion also ... or did he merely fancy that it was so?--on
catching sight of him in the first row, she seemed to be delighted,
seemed to blush--and again she gazed intently at him. Then, without
turning round, she retreated a couple of paces in the direction of the
piano, at which the accompanist, the long-haired foreigner, was already
seated. She was to execute Glinka's romance, "As soon as I recognised
thee...." She immediately began to sing, without altering the position
of her hands and without glancing at the notes. Her voice was soft and
resonant,--a contralt