“Why did you speak for me at all?” protested Oblomov. “I am by no means an adorer of music.” “What?” Schtoltz exclaimed. “Why, the man is offended! I introduce him as a person of taste, and here is he stumbling over himself to destroy his good reputation!” “I am only declining the rôle of connoisseur,” said Oblomov. “’Tis too difficult and risky a rôle. Sometimes I can listen with pleasure to a cracked barrel-organ, and its tunes stick in my memory; while at other times I leave the Opera before the piece is half over. It all depends upon the mood in which I am. In fact, there are moments when I could close my ears even to Mozart.” “Then it is clear that you _do_ love music,” said Olga. “Sing him something,” requested Schtoltz. “But suppose that Monsieur Oblomov were, at this very moment, to be feeling inclined to close his ears?” she said as she turned to him. “I suppose I ought to utter some compliment or another,” he replied. “But I cannot do so, and I would not, even if I could.” “Why?” “Because,” was Oblomov’s naïve rejoinder, “things would be so awkward for me if I were to find that you sing badly.” “Even as, the other day, you found things awkward with the biscuits?” she retorted before she could stop herself. The next moment she reddened as though she would have given worlds to have been able to recall her words. “Pardon me,” she added. “I ought not to have said that.” Oblomov had been unprepared, and was quite taken aback. “That was a cruel advantage,” he murmured. “No--only a small revenge (and an unpremeditated one) for your failure to have had a compliment ready.” “Then perhaps I will have one ready when I have heard you sing.” “‘You wish me to sing, then?” “No; _he_ wishes it.” Oblomov pointed to Schtoltz. “But what of yourself?” Oblomov shook his head deprecatingly. “I could not wish for what I have not yet experienced,” he said. “You are very rude, Ilya,” put in Schtoltz. “See what comes of lolling about at home and confining your efforts to having your socks put on for you.” “Pardon me,” said Oblomov quickly, and without giving him time to finish. “I should find it no trouble to say: ‘I shall be most glad, most delighted, to hear you sing, for of course you sing perfectly.’ So,” he went on, “‘it will afford me the very greatest possible pleasure.’ But do you really think it necessary?” “At least you might express a desire that I should sing--if only out of curiosity.” “I dare not do so,” replied Oblomov. “You are not an actress.” “Then it shall be for _you_ that I will sing,” she said to Schtoltz. “While you, Ilya,” he added, “can be getting your compliment ready.”