epaulettes, at least, would give me the right to hope... No,
it would have been better for me to have remained for ever in that
contemptible soldier's cloak, to which, probably, I was indebted for
your attention"...

"As a matter of fact, the cloak is much more becoming to you"...

At that moment I went up and bowed to Princess Mary. She blushed a
little, and went on rapidly:

"Is it not true, Monsieur Pechorin, that the grey cloak suits Monsieur
Grushnitski much better?"...

"I do not agree with you," I answered: "he is more youthful-looking
still in his uniform."

That was a blow which Grushnitski could not bear: like all boys, he
has pretensions to being an old man; he thinks that the deep traces
of passions upon his countenance take the place of the lines scored by
Time. He cast a furious glance at me, stamped his foot, and took himself
off.

"Confess now," I said to Princess Mary: "that although he has always
been most ridiculous, yet not so long ago he seemed to you to be
interesting... in the grey cloak?"...

She cast her eyes down and made no reply.

Grushnitski followed the Princess about during the whole evening and
danced either with her or vis-a-vis. He devoured her with his eyes,
sighed, and wearied her with prayers and reproaches. After the third
quadrille she had begun to hate him.

"I did not expect this from you," he said, coming up to me and taking my
arm.

"What?"

"You are going to dance the mazurka with her?" he asked in a solemn
tone. "She admitted it"...

"Well, what then? It is not a secret, is it"?

"Of course not... I ought to have expected such a thing from that
chit--that flirt... I will have my revenge, though!"

"You should lay the blame on your cloak, or your epaulettes, but why
accuse her? What fault is it of hers that she does not like you any
longer?"...

"But why give me hopes?"

"Why did you hope? To desire and to strive after something--that I can
understand! But who ever hopes?"

"You have won the wager, but not quite," he said, with a malignant
smile.

The mazurka began. Grushnitski chose no one but the Princess, other
cavaliers chose her every minute: obviously a conspiracy against me--all
the better! She wants to talk to me, they are preventing her--she will
want to twice as much.

I squeezed her hand once or twice; the second time she drew it away
without saying a word.

"I shall sleep badly to-night," she said to me when the mazurka was
over.

"