aughter
Mary, as she calls her after the English manner. They have been here
only three days."

"You already know her name, though?"

"Yes, I heard it by chance," he answered, with a blush. "I confess I do
not desire to make their acquaintance. These haughty aristocrats look
upon us army men just as they would upon savages. What care they if
there is an intellect beneath a numbered forage-cap, and a heart beneath
a thick cloak?"

"Poor cloak!" I said, with a laugh. "But who is the gentleman who is
just going up to them and handing them a tumbler so officiously?"

"Oh, that is Raevich, the Moscow dandy. He is a gambler; you can see
as much at once from that immense gold chain coiling across his
skyblue waistcoat. And what a thick cane he has! Just like Robinson
Crusoe's--and so is his beard too, and his hair is done like a
peasant's."

"You are embittered against the whole human race?"

"And I have cause to be"...

"Oh, really?"

At that moment the ladies left the well and came up to where we were.
Grushnitski succeeded in assuming a dramatic pose with the aid of his
crutch, and in a loud tone of voice answered me in French:

"Mon cher, je hais les hommes pour ne pas les mepriser, car autrement la
vie serait une farce trop degoutante."

The pretty Princess Mary turned round and favoured the orator with a
long and curious glance. Her expression was quite indefinite, but it was
not contemptuous, a fact on which I inwardly congratulated Grushnitski
from my heart.

"She is an extremely pretty girl," I said. "She has such velvet
eyes--yes, velvet is the word. I should advise you to appropriate the
expression when speaking of her eyes. The lower and upper lashes are
so long that the sunbeams are not reflected in her pupils. I love those
eyes without a glitter, they are so soft that they appear to caress you.
However, her eyes seem to be her only good feature... Tell me, are her
teeth white? That is most important! It is a pity that she did not smile
at that high-sounding phrase of yours."

"You are speaking of a pretty woman just as you might of an English
horse," said Grushnitski indignantly.

"Mon cher," I answered, trying to mimic his tone, "je meprise les
femmes, pour ne pas les aimer, car autrement la vie serait un melodrame
trop ridicule."

I turned and left him. For half an hour or so I walked about the avenues
of the vines, the limestone cliffs and the bushes hanging between them.
The day grew hot,