Towards the beginning of May, in consequence of a sudden burst of hot weather, we left the town and betook ourselves to Petrovski Palace, the French Exhibition was just opposite the Palace. It was a grand affair; lots of people were flocking in to see the splendid show. Punctually at ten o’clock in the morning we heard the whistle announcing the opening of the Exhibition. Every time I visited it I felt myself as if transported by magic from Moscow to Paris. All the sections are very interesting and instructive. My cousin, Prince Leon Galitzine, one of the richest wine makers in the Crimea, had a splendid stand where he regaled everybody gratis with his wines. I dreaded to pass close by, because my cousin always forced me to taste the different sorts of wines, which made my cheeks, already burning like fire because of the great heat, pass gradually from red to crimson, and it was most unbecoming. I had some accidental meetings with old friends at the Exhibition. One day, in the whirl of the crowd, I found myself suddenly face to face with Mr. O., my old love, for whom I had had a strong liking in my girlhood days. It was an age since I had heard anything of him and he was the last person I ever expected to see there. I had quite rubbed him out of my mind and there he was now. I could scarcely believe my eyes. My heart gave a little jump and I don’t mind confessing, I was rather pleased to see him, although I thought I had long since given him up for ever. The sight of Mr. O. gave me an odd mixture of sensation, I was startled, I was disturbed, I was pleased. Time had made but few changes in his appearance, he had grown a trifle stouter, that was all, and I recognised him immediately. For the first moment agitation deprived us both of speech. On overcoming his constraint, Mr. O. began to talk of different things, he chaffed and laughed and told funny stories as of yore. Presently we discovered a comfortable seat and sat down near where the band was playing. Suddenly Mr. O. became serious and began assuring me of his love, of his fidelity. Oh, the things he said to me! I wanted to put a stop to his passionate outburst, and felt very angry with my paralysed tongue. All the same I could not remain entirely unmoved, and to my extreme disgust I felt myself turning very red, and for the sake of doing something, I began drawing circles with my umbrella on the sand, looking anywhere but into his face. When recovering my composure I felt it my duty to lead the conversation into other channels and though my colour was beyond my control, my voice was steady, and with eyes which still declined to meet his, I told him he should leave off talking such nonsense, doing my best to make light of the matter. But he gazed at my downcast countenance and said, “I love you Vava!” to my very face, as if he had the right to call me by my Christian name. When we got up and passed through the section of toys, he asked abruptly if I had any