Nothing could have been more complete than the contrast between the two, the old man and the girl: a hawk and a dove. So intent was he upon the scene before them, that he seemed to forget her, and she shrank back in the shelter of his large figure and gazed timidly about. It was then that I had the satisfaction to find that I was remembered. I moved a little nearer to them, and as I did so, she turned, and our eyes met. There was a flash of recognition, and, I dared to think, almost of pleasure in her glance, but she instantly turned her head and gazed in the opposite direction; still, I rejoiced to see a beautiful blush creep slowly up to her brow, and suffuse her face, until even her delicate ear was scarlet. She remembered me, then, but did she resent my audacity? I was never a man to be easily dashed, but I knew that Russian etiquette was even more rigid than our own, and caution was a necessity. A bolder man would have hesitated to encounter that proud old boyar! She stood there with averted face, pulling nervously at her gloves, and presently she had one off, and I saw a small and beautiful hand. Suddenly she adjusted her veil more closely, and I feared that my persistent gaze had given offense, until I discovered the cause of her movement. An acquaintance of the boyar’s had approached, and I was startled at recognizing no less a person than Viatscheslav Naryshkin, a cousin of the Czarina Natalia, and a man whom I had learned to despise as a court profligate, full of intrigue and malice of a common kind, and holding his place only because of his illustrious relative; yet managing to exert considerable influence in that inner circle which constituted the strength of the czarina’s party, which to-day’s election would elevate to a dizzy eminence, if they were equal to discerning and grasping their opportunities.