ls of passions, and these portals are the old military hussars'
bottle, celebrated by Denis Davydov. So when he is in those portals,
madam, he may happen to send a letter in verse, a most magnificent
letter--but which afterwards he would have wished to take back, with the
tears of all his life; for the feeling of the beautiful is destroyed.
But the bird has flown, you won't catch it by the tail. In those portals
now, madam, Lebyadkin may have spoken about an honourable young lady,
in the honourable indignation of a soul revolted by wrongs, and his
slanderers have taken advantage of it. But Lebyadkin is cunning, madam!
And in vain a malignant wolf sits over him every minute, filling his
glass and waiting for the end. Lebyadkin won't blab. And at the bottom
of the bottle he always finds instead Lebyadkin's cunning. But enough,
oh, enough, madam! Your splendid halls might belong to the noblest in
the land, but the cockroach will not complain. Observe that, observe
that he does not complain, and recognise his noble spirit!"

At that instant a bell rang downstairs from the porter's room, and
almost at the same moment Alexey Yegorytch appeared in response to
Stepan Trofimovitch's ring, which he had somewhat delayed answering. The
correct old servant was unusually excited.

"Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch has graciously arrived this moment and is
coming here," he pronounced, in reply to Varvara Petrovna's questioning
glance. I particularly remember her at that moment; at first she turned
pale, but suddenly her eyes flashed. She drew herself up in her chair
with an air of extraordinary determination. Every one was astounded
indeed. The utterly unexpected arrival of Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch,
who was not expected for another month, was not only strange from its
unexpectedness but from its fateful coincidence with the present moment.
Even the captain remained standing like a post in the middle of the room
with his mouth wide open, staring at the door with a fearfully stupid
expression.

And, behold, from the next room--a very large and long apartment--came
the sound of swiftly approaching footsteps, little, exceedingly rapid
steps; some one seemed to be running, and that some one suddenly flew
into the drawing-room, not Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, but a young man who
was a complete stranger to all.

V

I will permit myself to halt here to sketch in a few hurried strokes
this person who had so suddenly arrived on the scene.

He was a