He was about to try the experiment by indulging in a race from one end of the tiled passage to the other, when a strange figure was seen approaching them. It was that of a young lad with flat, ugly Tartar features, and very fantastically dressed. He was one of those Calmucks whom the Russian nobility had a singular fancy for keeping in their houses as pets; although, as they grew up, they often proved very troublesome to their patrons. With a grin and a bow he informed the boys that the countess was ready to receive them, and invited them to follow him into her presence. Having passed once more through the saloon, they entered a boudoir richly furnished and adorned with hangings of blue and silver. An elderly lady, dressed in exaggerated French fashion, reclined on a couch. Her appearance was not improved by two rows of teeth dyed an ebony hue, a curious Russian custom of the period. She played with a fan, which was rather useless in that climate, while she conversed in French with two gentlemen in frock coats who sat near her. When Ivan entered, she languidly extended her hand, glittering with jewelled rings, and addressed some words to him in the same tongue. He looked embarrassed, but the ready Feodor came to his aid. “Pas Français, madame,” he said. The Countess Wertsch accordingly condescended to the use of her native language, in which she bade Ivan welcome cordially enough. She then gave him a French _bonbonnière_, and told him to help himself and his companion to its contents, while she continued her conversation with her guests. Ivan could not help thinking, from the manner of the speakers, that this conversation had reference to himself, and he was beginning to grow hot and uncomfortable, when Feodor effectually diverted his thoughts by taking out his pocket-knife and cutting upon one of the bonbons--a large almond covered with chocolate--a striking likeness of the countess’s rather peculiar face. He was on the point of indulging in a laugh which might have had awkward consequences, when a young man, dressed _à la française_, and carrying in his hand a long pipe tipped with amber, lounged into the room. “This is Adrian, my eldest son,” said the countess, turning to Ivan. “You are to be fellow-students, so you ought to be friends.--Adrian, this is Prince Ivan Pojarsky.” Adrian made a bow, and addressing himself to Ivan, asked if he had seen the new piece at the French theatre. Ivan, who thought he meant a new part of the building, answered with simplicity, “I do not know; everything I see here is alike new to me.” “Then I shall have the pleasure of introducing you to a great many things,” said Adrian, with a smile, and, by way of a further overture of friendship, he took out and presented a jewelled snuff-box. Ivan supposed this to be another kind of _bonbonnière_; but fortunately for himself he was not attracted either by the look or the odour of its contents, and declined with thanks.