the gipsy songs “If I go along the Street”⁠—“Oh, ye Hussars!”⁠—“Do you hear, do you know?” and so on in definite order. Styóshka sang admirably. The flexible, sonorous contralto that flowed from her very chest, her smiles while singing, her laughing, passionate eyes, and the foot that moved involuntarily in measure with the song, her wild shriek at the commencement of the chorus⁠—all touched some powerful but rarely-reached chord. One could see she lived completely in the song she was singing. Ilúshka accompanied her on the guitar, his back, legs, smile, and whole being, expressing sympathy with the song; and, eagerly watching her, he raised and lowered his head, as attentive and engrossed as though he heard the song for the first time. Then, at the last melodious note, he suddenly drew himself up, and, as if feeling himself superior to everyone in the world, with pride and determination threw his guitar up with his foot, twirled it about, stamped, shook back his hair, and frowning, looked round at the choir. His whole body, from neck to heels, began dancing in every muscle. And twenty energetic, powerful voices, each trying to chime in more strongly and more strangely than the rest, rang through the air.