very jolly, as Shubin had foretold; he himself was the loudest and the least jolly. He drank to the health of the incomprehensible but great _Venelin_, the health of the Bulgarian king Kuma, Huma, or Hroma, who lived somewhere about the time of Adam. ‘In the ninth century,’ Insarov corrected him. ‘In the ninth century?’ cried Shubin. ‘Oh, how delightful!’ Bersenyev noticed that among all his pranks, and jests and gaiety, Shubin was constantly, as it were, examining Insarov; he was sounding him and was in inward excitement, but Insarov remained as before, calm and straightforward. At last they returned home, changed their dress, and resolved to finish the day as they had begun it, by going that evening to the Stahovs. Shubin ran on before them to announce their arrival. XII ‘The conquering hero Insarov will be here directly!’ he shouted triumphantly, going into the Stahovs’ drawing-room, where there happened at the instant to be only Elena and Zoya. ‘_Wer_?’ inquired Zoya in German. When she was taken unawares she always used her native language. Elena drew herself up. Shubin looked at her with a playful smile on his lips. She felt annoyed, but said nothing. ‘You heard,’ he repeated, ‘Mr. Insarov is coming here.’ ‘I heard,’ she replied; ‘and I heard how you spoke of him. I am surprised at you, indeed. Mr. Insarov has not yet set foot in the house, and you already think fit to turn him into ridicule.’ Shubin was crestfallen at once. ‘You are right, you are always right, Elena Nikolaevna,’ he muttered; ‘but I meant nothing, on my honour. We have been walking together with him the whole day, and he’s a capital fellow, I assure you.’ ‘I didn’t ask your opinion about that,’ commented Elena, getting up. ‘Is Mr. Insarov a young man?’ asked Zoya. ‘He is a hundred and forty-four,’ replied Shubin with an air of vexation.