nine o'clock. He told me so himself
next day when we met for a moment in the street. Before ten o'clock I
made up my mind to go to the ball, but not in the capacity of a steward
(besides my rosette had been left at Yulia Mihailovna's). I was tempted
by irresistible curiosity to listen, without asking any questions,
to what people were saying in the town about all that had happened. I
wanted, too, to have a look at Yulia Mihailovna, if only at a distance.
I reproached myself greatly that I had left her so abruptly that
afternoon.

III

All that night, with its almost grotesque incidents, and the terrible
_denouement_ that followed in the early morning, still seems to me like a
hideous nightmare, and is, for me at least, the most painful chapter
in my chronicle. I was late for the ball, and it was destined to end
so quickly that I arrived not long before it was over. It was eleven
o'clock when I reached the entrance of the marshal's house, where the
same White Hall in which the matinee had taken place had, in spite of
the short interval between, been cleared and made ready to serve as the
chief ballroom for the whole town, as we expected, to dance in. But far
as I had been that morning from expecting the ball to be a success, I
had had no presentiment of the full truth. Not one family of the
higher circles appeared; even the subordinate officials of rather more
consequence were absent--and this was a very striking fact. As for
ladies and girls, Pyotr Stepanovitch's arguments (the duplicity of which
was obvious now) turned out to be utterly incorrect: exceedingly few
had come; to four men there was scarcely one lady--and what ladies
they were! Regimental ladies of a sort, three doctors' wives with
their daughters, two or three poor ladies from the country, the seven
daughters and the niece of the secretary whom I have mentioned already,
some wives of tradesmen, of post-office clerks and other small fry--was
this what Yulia Mihailovna expected? Half the tradespeople even were
absent. As for the men, in spite of the complete absence of all persons
of consequence, there was still a crowd of them, but they made a
doubtful and suspicious impression. There were, of course, some quiet
and respectful officers with their wives, some of the most docile
fathers of families, like that secretary, for instance, the father of
his seven daughters. All these humble, insignificant people had come, as
one of these gentlemen expressed it, b