In the middle of the terrace a queer company was drawing universal attention to itself. The men had dirty hands and wore shabby coats, glaring ties, and dusty boots. The women were red-haired, vulgar, and noisy. Their table was littered with the most choice and expensive dishes, to which they helped themselves greedily without order or system, even forbidding the waiters to change their plates. The other visitors threw them astonished glances, the waiters winked knowingly at each other, and the elegant French group sitting near Irene simply gasped in horrified wonder. “Vous verrez qu’ils se moucheront dans leur serviette, et embrasseront les femmes au dessert,” said a middle-aged Frenchman, scrutinizing the offenders severely. “Ma foi, j’ai envie de téléphoner au commissaire de police,” answered another; “they have probably murdered and robbed somebody on the highway, and have come here to enjoy themselves on the spoils!” “Not a bit,” sighed a third enviously. “They have simply had luck at the tables; it is always that kind that wins!” The restaurant in the meantime was becoming very crowded. Two badly dressed, middle-aged Englishwomen, with flabby cheeks and triple chins, but wearing a King’s ransom in diamonds and furs, were looking round for a table. These noble ladies had seen and experienced so much in their lives that they were no longer capable of taking an interest in anything except two enormous dogs, which, in spite of prohibitions, they had brought with them. The dogs tore at their leashes, wriggled out of their collars, and poked their noses into people’s plates. The visitors protested, but in vain. All the waiters seemed to know the dogs, petted them, and called them by their names, while the head-waiter led the English ladies to a reserved table, and, bowing obsequiously, waited for their order. The musicians, in their red and gold coats, played with redoubled gusto. Their violins sang and wept and danced. Some of the public applauded; others called up one or another of the players, and gave him money. Alas! these artists who could extract such sublime tones from their instruments were only too glad to accept even trifling tips! Close to Gzhatski sat, deep in meditation, with his elbows on the table, a handsome young German. He had come very early, and had ordered a choice supper for two. The champagne had long been standing ready on ice; red roses were scattered over the snowy tablecloth. Time passed, and still _she_ came not! The poor young German was excited, jumped up every minute and looked towards the door, from time to time rushed out to the porch, and repeatedly questioned the long-suffering head-waiter. “Mais, monsieur le Baron, j’ai déjà eu l’honneur de vous dire,” replied the latter wearily. “‘Viendrai si je puis,’ tel est le message, pris au téléphone.”