This was what happened. Anna Vassilyevna had hardly sent her farewell greeting to Tsaritsino, when suddenly, a few paces from her, behind a high bush of lilac, were heard confused exclamations, shouts, and laughter; and a whole mob of disorderly men, the same devotees of song who had so energetically applauded Zoya, burst out on the path. These musical gentlemen seemed excessively elevated. They stopped at the sight of the ladies; but one of them, a man of immense height, with a bull neck and a bull’s goggle eyes, separated from his companions, and, bowing clumsily and staggering unsteadily in his gait, approached Anna Vassilyevna, who was petrified with alarm. ‘_Bonzhoor, madame_,’ he said thickly, ‘how are you?’ Anna Vassilyevna started back. ‘Why wouldn’t you,’ continued the giant in vile Russian, ‘sing again when our party shouted _bis_, and bravo?’ ‘Yes, why?’ came from the ranks of his comrades. Insarov was about to step forward, but Shubin stopped him, and himself screened Anna Vassilyevna. ‘Allow me,’ he began, ‘honoured stranger, to express to you the heartfelt amazement, into which you have thrown all of us by your conduct. You belong, as far as I can judge, to the Saxon branch of the Caucasian race; consequently we are bound to assume your acquaintance with the customs of society, yet you address a lady to whom you have not been introduced. I assure you that I individually should be delighted another time to make your acquaintance, since I observe in you a phenomenal development of the muscles, biceps, triceps and deltoid, so that, as a sculptor, I should esteem it a genuine happiness to have you for a model; but on this occasion kindly leave us alone.’ The ‘honoured stranger’ listened to Shubin’s speech, his head held contemptuously on one side and his arms akimbo. ‘I don’t understand what you say,’ he commented at last. ‘Do you suppose I’m a cobbler or a watchmaker? Hey! I’m an officer, an official, so there.’ ‘I don’t doubt that----’ Shubin was beginning. ‘What I say is,’ continued the stranger, putting him aside with his powerful arm, like a twig out of the path--‘why didn’t you sing again when we shouted _bis_? And I’ll go away directly, this minute, only I tell you what I want, this _fräulein_, not that madam, no, not her, but this one or that one (he pointed to Elena and Zoya) must give me _einen Kuss_, as we say in German, a kiss, in fact; eh? That’s not much to ask.’ ‘_Einen Kuss_, that’s not much,’ came again from the ranks of his companions, ‘_Ih! der Stakramenter!_’ cried one tipsy German, bursting with laughter. Zoya clutched at Insarov’s arm, but he broke away from her, and stood directly facing the insolent giant. ‘You will please to move off,’ he said in a voice not loud but sharp. The German gave a heavy laugh, ‘Move off? Well, I like that. Can’t I walk where I please? Move off? Why should I move off?’