.. il vous entraine_!

'He speaks Russian so beautifully,' grumbled Pigasov, 'that he deserves
a eulogy in French.'

'You may grumble as you please, African Semenitch.... It's in keeping
with your ruffled locks.... I wonder, though, why he does not come. Do
you know what, _messieurs et mesdames_' added Darya Mihailovna, looking
round, 'we will go into the garden. There is still nearly an hour to
dinner-time and the weather is glorious.'

All the company rose and went into the garden.

Darya Mihailovna's garden stretched right down to the river. There were
many alleys of old lime-trees in it, full of sunlight and shade and
fragrance and glimpses of emerald green at the ends of the walks, and
many arbours of acacias and lilacs.

Volintsev turned into the thickest part of the garden with Natalya and
Mlle. Boncourt. He walked beside Natalya in silence. Mlle. Boncourt
followed a little behind.

'What have you been doing to-day?' asked Volintsev at last, pulling the
ends of his handsome dark brown moustache.

In features he resembled his sister strikingly; but there was less
movement and life in his expression, and his soft beautiful eyes had a
melancholy look.

'Oh! nothing,' answered Natalya, 'I have been listening to Pigasov's
sarcasms, I have done some embroidery on canvas, and I've been reading.'

'And what have you been reading?'

'Oh! I read--a history of the Crusades,' said Natalya, with some
hesitation.

Volintsev looked at her.

'Ah!' he ejaculated at last, 'that must be interesting.'

He picked a twig and began to twirl it in the air. They walked another
twenty paces.

'What is this baron whom your mother has made acquaintance with?' began
Volintsev again.

'A Gentleman of the Bedchamber, a new arrival; _maman_ speaks very
highly of him.'

'Your mother is quick to take fancies to people.'

'That shows that her heart is still young,' observed Natalya.

'Yes. I shall soon bring you your mare. She is almost quite broken in
now. I want to teach her to gallop, and I shall manage it soon.'

'_Merci_!... But I'm quite ashamed. You are breaking her in yourself ...
and they say it's so hard!'

'To give you the least pleasure, you know, Natalya Alexyevna, I am
ready... I... not in such trifles----'

Volintsev grew confused.

Natalya looked at him with friendly encouragement, and again said
'_merci_!'

'You know,' continued Sergei Pavlitch after a long pause, 'that not such
things.... But why a