true to his adored one in spite of her
disfigurement with smallpox, strove to imagine that I was in love with
Sonetchka, for the purpose of priding myself on holding to my troth in
spite of her scars--Yet, as a matter of fact, I was not really in love
with her during that drive, but having once stirred up in myself old
MEMORIES of love, felt PREPARED to fall into that condition, and the
more so because, of late, my conscience had often been pricking me for
having discarded so many of my old flames.

The Valakhins lived in a neat little wooden mansion approached by a
courtyard. I gained admittance by ringing a bell (then a rarity in
Moscow), and was received by a mincing, smartly-attired page. He either
could not or made no attempt to inform me whether there was any one
at home, but, leaving me alone in the dark hall, ran off down a still
darker corridor. For a long time I waited in solitude in this gloomy
place, out of which, in addition to the front door and the corridor,
there only opened a door which at the moment was closed. Rather
surprised at the dismal appearance of the house, I came to the
conclusion that the reason was that its inmates were still abroad. After
five minutes, however, the door leading into the salon was opened by the
page boy, who then conducted me into a neat, but not richly furnished,
drawing-room, where presently I was joined by Sonetchka.

She was now seventeen years old, and very small and thin, as well as of
an unhealthy pallor of face. No scars at all were visible, however, and
the beautiful, prominent eyes and bright, cheerful smile were the same
as I had known and loved in my childhood. I had not expected her to look
at all like this, and therefore could not at once lavish upon her the
sentiment which I had been preparing on the way. She gave me her hand in
the English fashion (which was then as much a novelty as a door-bell),
and, bestowing upon mine a frank squeeze, sat down on the sofa by my
side.

"Ah! how glad I am to see you, my dear Nicolas!" she said as she looked
me in the face with an expression of pleasure so sincere that in the
words "my dear Nicolas" I caught the purely friendly rather than the
patronising note. To my surprise she seemed to me simpler, kinder, and
more sisterly after her foreign tour than she had been before it.
True, I could now see that she had two small scars between her nose
and temples, but her wonderful eyes and smile fitted in exactly with my
reco