"Been awfully busy," mumbled Romashov. "Ah, yes, we all know about those military duties," replied Captain Peterson, with a little insinuating whistle that was directly changed into an amicable smile. His black eyes with their yellow pupils wandered, however, from Raisa to Romashov inquisitively. "I have an idea that you two have been quarrelling. Why do you both look so cross? What has happened?" Romashov stood silent whilst he gazed, worried and embarrassed, at Raisa's skinny, dark, sinewy neck. Raisa answered promptly, with the easy insolence she invariably displayed when lying: "Yuri Alexievich is playing the philosopher. He declares that dancing is both stupid and ridiculous, and that he has seen his best days." "And yet he dances?" replied the Captain, with a quick, snake-like glance at Romashov. "Dance away, my children, and don't let me disturb you." He had scarcely got out of earshot before Raisa Alexandrovna, in a hypocritical, pathetic tone, burst out with, "And I have deceived this saint, this noblest of husbands. And for whom?--Oh, if he knew all, if he only knew!" "_Mazurka générale_," shrieked Bobetinski. "Gentlemen, resume your partners." The violently perspiring bodies of the dancers and the dust arising from the parquet floor made the air of the ballroom close, and the lights in the lamps and candelabra took a dull yellow tint. The dancing was now in full swing, but as the space was insufficient, each couple, who every moment squeezed and pushed against one another, was obliged to tramp on the very same spot. This figure--the last in the quadrille--consisted in a gentleman, who was without a partner, pursuing a couple who were dancing. If he managed to come face to face with a lady he clapped her on the hand, which meant that the lady was now his booty. The lady's usual partner tried, of course, to prevent this, but by this arose a disorder and uproar which often resulted in some very brutal incidents. "Actress," whispered Romashov hoarsely, as he bent nearer to Raisa. "You're as pitiable as you are ridiculous." "And you are drunk," the worthy lady almost shrieked, giving Romashov at the same time a glance resembling that with which the heroine on the stage measures the villain of the piece from head to foot.