and I hurried homewards. Passing the sulphur spring,
I stopped at the covered gallery in order to regain my breath under its
shade, and by so doing I was afforded the opportunity of witnessing a
rather interesting scene. This is the position in which the dramatis
personae were disposed: Princess Ligovski and the Moscow dandy were
sitting on a bench in the covered gallery--apparently engaged in serious
conversation. Princess Mary, who had doubtless by this time finished her
last tumbler, was walking pensively to and fro by the well. Grushnitski
was standing by the well itself; there was nobody else on the square.

I went up closer and concealed myself behind a corner of the gallery.
At that moment Grushnitski let his tumbler fall on the sand and made
strenuous efforts to stoop in order to pick it up; but his injured foot
prevented him. Poor fellow! How he tried all kinds of artifices, as he
leaned on his crutch, and all in vain! His expressive countenance was,
in fact, a picture of suffering.

Princess Mary saw the whole scene better than I.

Lighter than a bird she sprang towards him, stooped, picked up the
tumbler, and handed it to him with a gesture full of ineffable charm.
Then she blushed furiously, glanced round at the gallery, and, having
assured herself that her mother apparently had not seen anything,
immediately regained her composure. By the time Grushnitski had opened
his mouth to thank her she was a long way off. A moment after, she came
out of the gallery with her mother and the dandy, but, in passing by
Grushnitski, she assumed a most decorous and serious air. She did not
even turn round, she did not even observe the passionate gaze which he
kept fixed upon her for a long time until she had descended the mountain
and was hidden behind the lime trees of the boulevard... Presently I
caught glimpses of her hat as she walked along the street. She hurried
through the gate of one of the best houses in Pyatigorsk; her mother
walked behind her and bowed adieu to Raevich at the gate.

It was only then that the poor, passionate cadet noticed my presence.

"Did you see?" he said, pressing my hand vigorously. "She is an angel,
simply an angel!"

"Why?" I inquired, with an air of the purest simplicity.

"Did you not see, then?"

"No. I saw her picking up your tumbler. If there had been an attendant
there he would have done the same thing--and quicker too, in the hope
of receiving a tip. It is quite easy, howeve