walked in quickly and jauntily as was his wont, as if intentionally contrasting the briskness of his manners with the strict formality of his house. At that moment the great clock struck two and another with a shrill tone joined in from the drawing room. The prince stood still; his lively glittering eyes from under their thick, bushy eyebrows sternly scanned all present and rested on the little princess. She felt, as courtiers do when the Tsar enters, the sensation of fear and respect which the old man inspired in all around him. He stroked her hair and then patted her awkwardly on the back of her neck.
“I’m glad, glad, to see you,” he said, looking attentively into her eyes, and then quickly went to his place and sat down.
“Sit down, sit down! Sit down, Mikháil Ivánovich!”
He indicated a place beside him to his daughter-in-law. A footman moved the chair for her.
“Ho, ho!” said the old man, casting his eyes on her rounded figure. “You’ve been in a hurry. That’s bad!”
He laughed in his usual dry, cold, unpleasant way, with his lips only and not with his eyes.
“You must walk, walk as much as possible, as much as possible,” he said.
The little princess did not, or did not wish to, hear his words. She was silent and seemed confused.
The prince asked her about her father, and she began to smile and talk. He asked about mutual acquaintances, and she became still more animated and chattered away giving him greetings from various people and retelling the town gossip.
“Countess Apráksina, poor thing, has lost her husband and she has cried her eyes