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'Certainly. Such women are at least fresh, and freshness cannot be put on. 'And can everything else? Rudin asked, and he laughed a thing which rarely happened with him. When he laughed his face assumed a strange, almost aged appearance, his eyes disappeared, his nose was wrinkled up. 'And who is this queer creature, as you call him, to whom Madame Lipin is not indifferent? he asked.
The high nodding rye all round her moved in long softly rustling waves, taking here a shade of silvery green and there a ripple of red; the larks were trilling overhead. The young woman had come from her own estate, which was not more than a mile from the village to which she was turning her steps. Her name was Alexandra Pavlovna Lipin.
Alexandra Pavlovna, no longer Lipin but Lezhnyov, was sitting on the balcony of her house; she had been married to Mihailo Mihailitch for more than a year. She was as charming as ever, and had only grown a little stouter of late.
'Who else have you here? asked Rudin, after a pause. Darya Mihailovna knocked off the ash of her cigarette with her little finger. 'Oh, there is hardly any one else. Madame Lipin, Alexandra Pavlovna, whom you saw yesterday; she is very sweet but that is all. Her brother is also a capital fellow un parfait honnete homme. The Prince Garin you know. Those are all.
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