Lisa took the fork, drew a pin out of her tippet—which thereupon, a breeze coming in at the door, blew slightly open—and managing somehow to pick the stitch up with the pin, pulled two loops through and returned the fork to her uncle.
“Now give me a kiss for it,” she said, holding her rosy cheek to him and pinning up her tippet. “You shall have rum with your tea today. It’s Friday, you know.”
And she went again into the tearoom.
“Come here and look, uncle, the hussars are coming!” rang her clear voice from the tearoom.
Anna Fyódorovna came with her brother into the tearoom, the windows of which overlooked the village, to see the hussars. Very little was visible from the windows—only a crowd moving in a cloud of dust.
“It’s a pity, sister, that we have so little room,” the uncle said to Anna Fyódorovna, “and that the wing is not yet finished; we might have invited the officers. Hussar officers, you know, are such splendid, gay, young fellows. One would have liked to see something of them.”
“Why, of course I should have been only too glad; but you know yourself, brother, we have no room. There’s my bedroom, and Lisa’s room, the drawing-room, this, and your room, and that’s all. Where is one to put them?—really now. The village elder’s cottage has been cleaned out for them: Michael Matvéef says it’s quite clean.”
“And we could have chosen a bridegroom for you, Lizzie, from among them—a fine hussar.”
“No, I don’t want an hussar; I’d rather have an Uhlan. Weren’t you in the Uhlans, uncle? … I don’t want to have anything to do with these. They are said all to be desperate fellows.” And Lisa blushed a little, but again laughed her musical laugh.