his head to her, she responded with the same gesture, and again looked at him questioningly, with a sort of strained effort, as though he were standing much further off than he really was. Litvinov led his ladies away from the Konversation Hall, and passing the ‘Russian tree,’ under which two Russian ladies were already sitting, he went towards Lichtenthaler Allee. He had hardly entered the avenue when he saw Irina in the distance. She was walking towards him with her husband and Potugin. Litvinov turned white as a sheet; he did not slacken his pace, however, and when he was on a level with her, he made a bow without speaking. She too bowed to him, politely, but coldly, and taking in Tatyana in a rapid glance, she glided by.... Ratmirov lifted his hat high, Potugin muttered something. ‘Who is that lady?’ Tatyana asked suddenly. Till that instant she had hardly opened her lips. ‘That lady?’ repeated Litvinov, ‘that lady? That is a Madame Ratmirov.’ ‘Is she Russian?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Did you make her acquaintance here?’ ‘No; I have known her a long while.’ ‘How beautiful she is!’ ‘Did you notice her dress?’ put in Kapitolina Markovna. ‘Ten families might live for a whole year on the cost of her lace alone. Was that her husband with her?’ she inquired turning to Litvinov. ‘Yes.’ ‘He must be awfully rich, I suppose?’ ‘Really I don’t know; I don’t think so.’ ‘What is his rank?’ ‘He’s a general.’ ‘What eyes she has!’ said Tatyana, ‘and what a strange expression in them: pensive and penetrating at the same time.... I have never seen such eyes.’ Litvinov made no answer; he fancied that he felt again Tatyana’s questioning glance bent on his face, but he was wrong, she was looking at her own feet, at the sand of the path. ‘Mercy on us! Who is that fright?’ cried Kapitolina Markovna suddenly, pointing to a low jaunting-car in which a red-haired pug-nosed woman lay lolling impudently, in an extraordinarily gorgeous costume and lilac stockings. ‘That fright! why, that’s the celebrated Ma’mselle Cora.’ ‘Who?’ ‘Ma’mselle Cora ... a Parisian ... notoriety.’ ‘What? That pug? Why, but she’s hideous!’ ‘It seems that’s no hindrance.’ Kapitolina Markovna could only lift her hands in astonishment. ‘Well, this Baden of yours!’ she brought out at last. ‘Can one sit down on a seat here? I’m rather tired.’ ‘Of course you can, Kapitolina Markovna.... That’s what the seats are put here for.’ ‘Well, really, there’s no knowing! But there in Paris, I’m told, there are seats, too, along the boulevards; but it’s not proper to sit on them.’ Litvinov made no reply to Kapitolina Markovna; only at that moment he realised that two paces away was the very spot where he had had that explanation with Irina, which had decided everything. Then he recalled that he had noticed a small rosy spot on her cheek to-day....