was not very tall; she was lithe without,
however, being lean. A natural dignity reigned in all her person,
although she had as much vivacity of manner as of mind. Her memory was
prodigious: everything remained that she had learned in her lessons or
in the course of her reading. She had a delightful voice, and sang
exquisitely in Italian, for at Naples and St. Petersburg I had given
her the best singing masters, as well as instructors of English and
German. Moreover, she could accompany herself on the piano or the
guitar. But what enraptured me above everything else was her happy
disposition for painting, so that I cannot say how proud and satisfied
I was over the many advantages she commanded. I saw in my daughter the
happiness of my life, the future joy of my old age, and it was
therefore not surprising that she gained an ascendancy over me. When
my friends said, "You love your daughter so madly that it is you who
obey her," I would reply, "Do you not see that she is loved by every
one?" Indeed, the most prominent residents of St. Petersburg admired
and sought her out. I was not invited without her, and the successes
she won in society were far more to me than any of my own had ever
been.

Since I could but very rarely leave my studio of a morning, I
sometimes consented to confide my daughter to the Countess
Czernicheff, in order that she might take part in sledging
expeditions, which amused her greatly, and the Countess would
sometimes also take her to spend the evening at her house. There she
met a certain Nigris, Count Czernicheff's secretary. This M. Nigris
had a fairly good face and figure; he might have been about thirty. As
for his abilities, he drew a little, and wrote a beautiful hand. His
soft ways, his melancholy look, and even his yellowish paleness, gave
him an interesting and romantic air, which so far affected my
daughter that she fell in love with him. Immediately the Czernicheff
family put their heads together and began an intrigue to make him my
son-in-law. Being informed what was happening, my grief was deep, as
may well be imagined; but unhappy as I was at the thought of giving my
daughter, my only child, to a man without talents, without fortune,
without a name, I made inquiries about this M. Nigris. Some spoke well
of him, but others reported badly, so that the days went by without my
being able to fix upon any decision.

In vain did I attempt to make my daughter understand how unlikely in
eve