“What? To-day is the first of May, and you are not going to the Ekaterinhov? Why, _every one_ will be there!” “Not quite every one,” Oblomov lazily remarked. “You _must_ go, though. Sophia Nikolaevna and Lydia will be occupying two of the seats in our carriage, but the seat facing them will be vacant. Come with us, I tell you.” “No, I do not intend to occupy the vacant seat. What sort of a figure should _I_ cut on it?” “Then, if you like, Mischa Gorunov shall lend you a horse.” “Of what is the fellow thinking?” said Oblomov as though to himself. “How come you and the Gorunov family to be so friendly with one another?” “Give me your word of honour not to repeat what I may tell you, and I will explain.” “Herewith I give it.” “Very well. I am in love with Lydia.” “Splendid! Have you been in love with her long? She seems a charming girl.” “I have been in love with her for three weeks,” said Volkov, with a sigh. “And Mischa, for his part, is in love with Dashenka.” “Who is Dashenka?” “What! You do not know Dashenka? Why, the whole town is raving over her dancing. To-night I am going to the Opera with Mischa, and he is to throw her a bouquet. Well, I must be off to buy the necessary camelias for it.” “Come back, then, and take lunch with me. I should like to have a talk with you, for I have just experienced two misfortunes.” “Impossible, I fear, for I am lunching with Prince Tiumenev. All the Gorunova--yes, and Lydia, too--are to be there. What a cheerful house it is! And so is Tiumenev’s country place. I have heard that it is to be the scene of numberless dances and tableaux this summer. Are you likely to be one of the guests?” “No--I think not.” “What hospitality the Prince dispenses! This winter his guests averaged fifty, and sometimes a hundred.” “How wearisome the whole thing must have been!” “What! Wearisome? Why, the more the merrier. Lydia, too, used to be there--though in those days I never so much as noticed her. In fact, never once did I do so until one day I found myself ‘vainly trying to forget her, vainly pitting reason in the lists with love.’” Volkov hummed the concluding words, and seated himself carelessly upon a chair. Almost instantly he leaped to his feet again, and blushed the dust from his trousers. “What quantities of dirt you keep everywhere!” he remarked.”’tis Zakhar’s fault, not mine,” replied Oblomov. “Well, now I must be off, as it is absolutely necessary that I should buy those camelias for Mischa’s bouquet. _Au revoir!_” “Come and have tea after the opera, and tell me all about it.” “No, that is impossible, for I am promised to supper at the Musinskis’. It is their reception day, you know. However, meet me there, and I’ll present you.” “What is toward at the Musinskis’?” “What, indeed? Why, entertainment in a house where you hear all the news.” “Like everything else, it would bore me.”