Elisaveta smiled an incredulous smile, full of gentle irony; a golden, saddened smile, set off by the melancholy yellow rose in her black hair. And Elena’s astonished eyes dilated widely. “Think it over yourself, uncle,” went on Piotr, “and look around you. He has bewitched our little girls completely!” “Well, if he has,” said Elena with a gay smile, “it’s only just a little as far as I am concerned.” Elisaveta flushed but said with composure: “Yes, he’s interesting to listen to; and it’s no use stuffing one’s ears.” “There, she admits it!” exclaimed Piotr angrily. “Admits what?” asked Elisaveta in astonishment. “That for the sake of this cold, vain egoist you are ready to forget every one.” “I’ve not noticed either his vanity or his egoism,” said Elisaveta coldly. “I wonder how you’ve managed to know him so well--or so ill.” “All this is pitiful and absurd nonsense, only an excuse for starting a quarrel,” said Piotr angrily. “Petya, you envy him,” retorted Elisaveta with unaccustomed sharpness. Then, feeling that she had overstepped the mark, she added: “Do forgive me, Petya, but really you are exasperating sometimes with your personal attacks.” “Envy him? Why should I?” he said hotly. “Tell me, what useful thing has he done? To be sure, he has published a few tales, a volume of verses--but name me even a single work of his prose or verse that contains the slightest sense or beauty.” “His verses....” began Elisaveta. But Piotr would not let her continue. “Tell me, where is his talent? What is he famous for? All that he writes only seems like poetry. If you look at it closely you will see that it is bookish, forced, dry--it is diabolically suggestive without being talented.” Rameyev interrupted in a conciliatory tone: “You’re unjust. You can’t deny him everything.” “Let us admit, then, that there’s something in his work not altogether bad,” continued Piotr. “Who is there nowadays who cannot put together some nice-sounding versicles! Yet what is there really I should respect in him? He’s nothing but a corrupt, bald-headed, ridiculous, and dull-sighted person--yet Elisaveta considers him a handsome man!” “I never said anything about his being handsome,” protested Elisaveta. “As for his corruption, isn’t it purely town tattle?” She frowned and grew red. Her blue eyes flared up with small greenish flames. Piotr walked angrily out of the room. “Why is he so annoyed?” asked Rameyev in astonishment. Elisaveta lowered her head and said with childish bashfulness: “I don’t know.” She could not repress an ashamed smile at her timid words, because she felt like a little girl who was concealing something. At last she overcame her shame and said: “He’s jealous!” CHAPTER XII