houses.
Russian manners are coarse, and often simply inhuman manners. I'm
afraid that you will be insulted by some pungent, unseemly word, or
that a chance visitor will play some senseless prank before you ..."

"Ah, my God," impatiently interrupted Rovinskaya; "when I was singing
in London, there were many at that time paying court to me, and I did
not hesitate to go and see the filthiest dens of Whitechapel in a
choice company. I will say, that I was treated there very carefully and
anticipatingly. I will also say, that there were with me at that time
two English aristocrats; lords, both sportsmen, both people unusually
strong physically and morally, who, of course, would never have allowed
a woman to be offended. However, perhaps you, Volodya, are of the race
of cowards?"

Chaplinsky flared up:

"Oh, no, no, Ellena Victorovna. I forewarned you only out of love for
you. But if you command, then I'm ready to go where you will. Not only
on this dubious undertaking, but even very death itself."

By this time they had already driven up to the most luxurious
establishment in the Yamkas--Treppel's. Ryazanov the lawyer said,
smiling with his usual ironic smile:

"And so, the inspection of the menagerie begins."

They were led into a cabinet with crimson wall paper, and on the wall
paper was repeated, in the "empire" style, a golden design in the form
of small laurel wreaths. And at once Rovinskaya recognized, with the
keen memory of an artiste, that exactly the same paper had also been in
that cabinet in which they had just been sitting.

Four German women from the Baltic provinces came out. All of them
stout, full-breasted, blonde, powdered, very important and respectful.
The conversation did not catch on at first. The girls sat immovable,
like carvings of stone, in order to pretend with all their might that
they were respectable ladies. Even the champagne, which Ryazanov called
for, did not improve the mood. Rovinskaya was the first to come to the
aid of the party. Turning to the stoutest, fairest German of all, who
resembled a loaf, she asked politely in German:

"Tell me, where were you born? Germany, in all probability?"

"No, gnadige Frau, I am from Riga."

"What compels you to serve here, then? Not poverty, I hope?"

"Of course not, gnadige Frau. But, you understand, my bridegroom, Hans,
works as a kellner in a restaurant-automat, and we are too poor to be
married now. I bring my savings to a bank, and he