r had meant to make fun of Varenka, but
that he could not do it because he liked her.

"Come, so we shall see all your friends," he went on, "even
Madame Stahl, if she deigns to recognize me."

"Why, did you know her, papa?" Kitty asked apprehensively,
catching the gleam of irony that kindled in the prince's eyes at
the mention of Madame Stahl.

"I used to know her husband, and her too a little, before she'd
joined the Pietists."

"What is a Pietist, papa?" asked Kitty, dismayed to find that
what she prized so highly in Madame Stahl had a name.

"I don't quite know myself. I only know that she thanks God
for everything, for every misfortune, and thanks God too that her
husband died. And that's rather droll, as they didn't get on
together."

"Who's that? What a piteous face!" he asked, noticing a sick man
of medium height sitting on a bench, wearing a brown overcoat and
white trousers that fell in strange folds about his long,
fleshless legs. This man lifted his straw hat, showed his scanty
curly hair and high forehead, painfully reddened by the pressure
of the hat.

"That's Petrov, an artist," answered Kitty, blushing. "And
that's his wife," she added, indicating Anna Pavlovna, who, as
though on purpose, at the very instant they approached walked
away after a child that had run off along a path.

"Poor fellow! and what a nice face he has!" said the prince.
"Why don't you go up to him? He wanted to speak to you."

"Well, let us go, then," said Kitty, turning round resolutely.
"How are you feeling today?" she asked Petrov.

Petrov got up, leaning on his stick, and looked shyly at the
prince.

"This is my daughter," said the prince. "Let me introduce
myself."

The painter bowed and smiled, showing his strangely dazzling
white teeth.

"We expected you yesterday, princess," he said to Kitty. He
staggered as he said this, and then repeated the motion, trying
to make it seem as if it had been intentional.

"I meant to come, but Varenka said that Anna Pavlovna sent word
you were not going."

"Not going!" said Petrov, blushing, and immediately beginning to
cough, and his eyes sought his wife. "Anita! Anita!" he said
loudly, and the swollen veins stood out like cords on his thin
white neck.

Anna Pavlovna came up.

"So you sent word to the princess that we weren't going!" he
whispered to her angrily, losing his voice.

"Good morning, princess," said Anna Pavlovna, with an assumed
smile utterl