that morning; they were going
to have dinner and supper together, and start off again at daybreak next
morning; such were Sonia's orders, and nobody had made the slightest
objection.

Two of her admirers, however, who were not yet used to her sudden whims,
had felt some surprise, which was quickly checked by expressions of
enthusiastic pleasure on the part of the others.

"What a delightful, original idea! Nobody else would have thought of
such things! Positively, nobody else. Oh! these Russians!" But those who
had known her for some time, and who had been consequently educated not
to be surprised at anything, found it all quite natural.

It was half-past six in the evening, and the gentlemen were going to
dress. Sonia had made up her mind to keep on her morning-gown, or if she
dressed, she would do so later. Just then she was not inclined to move
out of her great rocking-chair, from which she could see the sun setting
over the sea. The sight always delighted her very much. It might have
been taken for a large red billiard ball, rebounding from the green
cloth. How funny it was! And how lucky that she was all alone to look at
it, for those seven would not have understood it at all! Those men never
have any soul, have they?

Certainly, the sunset was strange at first, but at length it made her
sad, and just now Sonia's heart felt almost heavy, though the very
sadness was sweet. She was congratulating herself more than ever on
being alone, so as to enjoy that languor, which was almost like a gentle
dream, when, in perfect harmony with that melancholy and sweet
sensation, a voice rose from the road, which was overhung by the
terrace; a tremulous, but fresh and pure voice sang the following words
to a slow melody:

"Walking in Paris,
Having my drink,
A friend of mine whispered:
_What do you think?
If love makes you thirsty,
Then wine makes you lusty_."

The sound died away, as the singer continued on his way, and Sonia was
afraid that she should not hear the rest; it was really terrible; so she
jumped out of the rocking-chair, ran to the balustrade of terrace, and
leaning over it, she called out: "Sing it again! I insist on it. The
song, the whole song!"

On hearing this, the singer looked round and then came back, without
hurrying, however, and as if he were prompted by curiosity, rather than
by any desire to comply with her order, and holding his hand over his
eyes, he looked at Soni