That winter the court visited Moscow. One festivity followed another; in its turn came the customary great ball in the Hall of Nobility. The news of this ball, only, it is true, in the form of an announcement in the _Political Gazette_, reached even the little house in Dogs’ Place. The prince was the first to be roused by it; he decided at once that he must not fail to go and take Irina, that it would be unpardonable to let slip the opportunity of seeing their sovereigns, that for the old nobility this constituted indeed a duty in its own way. He defended his opinion with a peculiar warmth, not habitual in him; the princess agreed with him to some extent, and only sighed over the expense; but a resolute opposition was displayed by Irina. ‘It is not necessary, I will not go,’ she replied to all her parents’ arguments. Her obstinacy reached such proportions that the old prince decided at last to beg Litvinov to try to persuade her, by reminding her among other reasons that it was not proper for a young girl to avoid society, that she ought to ‘have this experience,’ that no one ever saw her anywhere, as it was. Litvinov undertook to lay these ‘reasons’ before her. Irina looked steadily and scrutinisingly at him, so steadily and scrutinisingly that he was confused, and then, playing with the ends of her sash, she said calmly: ‘Do you desire it, you?’ ‘Yes.... I suppose so,’ replied Litvinov hesitatingly. ‘I agree with your papa.... Indeed, why should you not go ... to see the world, and show yourself,’ he added with a short laugh. ‘To show myself,’ she repeated slowly. ‘Very well then, I will go.... Only remember, it is you yourself who desired it.’ ‘That’s to say, I----.’ Litvinov was beginning. ‘You yourself have desired it,’ she interposed. ‘And here is one condition more; you must promise me that you will not be at this ball.’ ‘But why?’ ‘I wish it to be so.’ Litvinov unclasped his hands. ‘I submit ... but I confess I should so have enjoyed seeing you in all your grandeur, witnessing the sensation you are certain to make.... How proud I should be of you!’ he added with a sigh. Irina laughed. ‘All the grandeur will consist of a white frock, and as for the sensation.... Well, any way, I wish it.’ ‘Irina, darling, you seem to be angry?’ Irina laughed again. ‘Oh, no! I am not angry. Only, Grisha....’ (She fastened her eyes on him, and he thought he had never before seen such an expression in them.) ‘Perhaps, it must be,’ she added in an undertone. ‘But, Irina, you love me, dear?’ ‘I love you,’ she answered with almost solemn gravity, and she clasped his hand firmly like a man.