y or may not be understood when I say that
she had one of those faces which one is afraid of. At all events, I
myself have always feared such women. Apparently about twenty-five
years of age, she was tall and broad-shouldered, with shoulders that
sloped; yet though her neck and bosom were ample in their proportions,
her skin was dull yellow in colour, while her hair (which was extremely
abundant--sufficient to make two coiffures) was as black as Indian ink.
Add to that a pair of black eyes with yellowish whites, a proud glance,
gleaming teeth, and lips which were perennially pomaded and redolent of
musk. As for her dress, it was invariably rich, effective, and chic,
yet in good taste. Lastly, her feet and hands were astonishing, and her
voice a deep contralto. Sometimes, when she laughed, she displayed her
teeth, but at ordinary times her air was taciturn and
haughty--especially in the presence of Polina and Maria Philipovna. Yet
she seemed to me almost destitute of education, and even of wits,
though cunning and suspicious. This, apparently, was not because her
life had been lacking in incident. Perhaps, if all were known, the
Marquis was not her kinsman at all, nor her mother, her mother; but
there was evidence that, in Berlin, where we had first come across the
pair, they had possessed acquaintances of good standing. As for the
Marquis himself, I doubt to this day if he was a Marquis--although
about the fact that he had formerly belonged to high society (for
instance, in Moscow and Germany) there could be no doubt whatever. What
he had formerly been in France I had not a notion. All I knew was that
he was said to possess a chateau. During the last two weeks I had
looked for much to transpire, but am still ignorant whether at that
time anything decisive ever passed between Mademoiselle and the
General. Everything seemed to depend upon our means--upon whether the
General would be able to flourish sufficient money in her face. If ever
the news should arrive that the grandmother was not dead, Mlle.
Blanche, I felt sure, would disappear in a twinkling. Indeed, it
surprised and amused me to observe what a passion for intrigue I was
developing. But how I loathed it all! With what pleasure would I have
given everybody and everything the go-by! Only--I could not leave
Polina. How, then, could I show contempt for those who surrounded her?
Espionage is a base thing, but--what have I to do with that?

Mr. Astley, too, I found a