otes of
invitation, written by Zoya, the first in Russian, the second in French;
Anna Vassilyevna herself was busy over the dresses of the young ladies
for the expedition. Meanwhile the _partie du plaisir_ was very near
coming to grief. Nikolai Artemyevitch arrived from Moscow in a sour,
ill-natured, _frondeurish_ frame of mind. He was still sulky with
Augustina Christianovna; and when he heard what the plan was, he flatly
declared that he would not go; that to go trotting from Kuntsovo to
Moscow and from Moscow to Tsaritsino, and then from Tsaritsino again to
Moscow, from Moscow again to Kuntsovo, was a piece of folly; and, 'in
fact,' he added, 'let them first prove to my satisfaction, that one can
be merrier on one spot of the globe than another spot, and I will
go.' This, of course, no one could prove to his satisfaction, and Anna
Vassilyevna was ready to throw up the _partie du plaisir_ for lack of a
solid escort; but she recollected Uvar Ivanovitch, and in her distress
she sent to his room for him, saying: 'a drowning man catches at
straws.' They waked him up; he came down, listened in silence to Anna
Vassilyevna's proposition, and, to the general astonishment, with a
flourish of his fingers, he consented to go. Anna Vassilyevna kissed
him on the cheek, and called him a darling; Nikolai Artemyevitch smiled
contemptuously and said: _quelle bourde!_ (he liked on occasions to make
use of a 'smart' French word); and the following morning the coach and
the open carriage, well-packed, rolled out of the Stahovs' court-yard.
In the coach were the ladies, a maid, and Bersenyev; Insarov was seated
on the box; and in the open carriage were Uvar Ivanovitch and Shubin.
Uvar Ivanovitch had himself beckoned Shubin to him; he knew that
he would tease him the whole way, but there existed a queer sort of
attachment, marked by abusive candour, between the 'primeval force' and
the young artist. On this occasion, however, Shubin left his fat friend
in peace; he was absent-minded, silent, and gentle.

The sun stood high in a cloudless blue sky when the carriage drove up to
the ruins of Tsaritsino Castle, which looked gloomy and menacing, even
at mid-day. The whole party stepped out on to the grass, and at once
made a move towards the garden. In front went Elena and Zoya with
Insarov; Anna Vassilyevna, with an expression of perfect happiness on
her face, walked behind them, leaning on the arm of Uvar Ivanovitch. He
waddled along panting,