So saying, Mosgliakoff stared angrily at Maria Alexandrovna. The latter sat still, apparently dumb with amazement. I regret to say—it gives me great pain to record it—that, perhaps for the first time in her life, my heroine was decidedly alarmed. “So the prince is off to-morrow morning! Dear me; why is that?” inquired Natalia Dimitrievna, very sweetly, of Maria Alexandrovna. “Yes. How is that?” asked Mrs. Antipova, in astonishment. “Yes; dear me! how comes that, I wonder!” said two or three voices. “How can that be? When we were told—dear me! How very strange!” But the mistress of the house could not find words to reply in. However, at this moment the general attention was distracted by a most unwonted and eccentric episode. In the next room was heard a strange noise—sharp exclamations and hurrying feet, which was followed by the sudden appearance of Sophia Petrovna, the fidgety guest who had called upon Maria Alexandrovna in the morning. Sophia Petrovna was a very eccentric woman indeed—so much so that even the good people of Mordasoff could not support her, and had lately voted her out of society. I must observe that every evening, punctually at seven, this lady was in the habit of having, what she called, “a snack,” and that after this snack, which she declared was for the benefit of her liver, her condition was well _emancipated_, to use no stronger term. She was in this very condition, as described, now, as she appeared flinging herself into Maria Alexandrovna’s salon. “Oho! so this is how you treat me, Maria Alexandrovna!” she shouted at the top of her voice. “Oh! don’t be afraid, I shall not inflict myself upon you for more than a minute! I won’t sit down. I just came in to see if what they said was true! Ah! so you go in for balls and receptions and parties, and Sophia Petrovna is to sit at home alone, and knit stockings, is she? You ask the whole town in, and leave me out, do you? Yes, and I was _mon ange_, and ‘dear,’ and all the rest of it when I came in to warn you of Natalia Dimitrievna having got hold of the prince! And now this very Natalia Dimitrievna, whom you swore at like a pickpocket, and who was just about as polite when she spoke of you, is here among your guests? Oh, don’t mind _me_, Natalia Dimitrievna, _I_ don’t want your _chocolat à la santé_ at a penny the ounce, six cups to the ounce! thanks, I can do better at home; t’fu, a good deal better.” “Evidently!” observed Natalia Dimitrievna. “But—goodness gracious, Sophia Petrovna!” cried the hostess, flushing with annoyance; “what is it all about? Do show a little common sense!”