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The room was instantly filled with an odour of musk and of tobacco, quite overpowering the fresh scents of the garden. "Ah! how do you do, Pavel Lvovitsch!" cried Sarudine as he hastily rose. Volochine shook hands, sat down by the window and proceeded to light a cigar.
Volochine owned immense works in St. Petersburg upon which the existence of thousands of his employes depended. At the present time, while a strike was in progress, be had turned his back upon the crowd of hungry, dirty malcontents, and was enjoying a trip in the provinces.
Laughing and chatting, the young people accordingly turned aside into a more shady, quieter avenue. As they reached the end of it and were about to turn, Sarudine, Tanaroff and Volochine suddenly came round the corner. Sanine saw at once that Sarudine had not expected to meet him here, and that he was considerably disconcerted.
His handsome face grew dark, and he drew himself up to his full height. Tanaroff laughed contemptuously. "That little jackanapes is still here," said Ivanoff, as be stared at Volochine. The latter had not noticed them, being so much interested in Sina, who walked first, that he turned round in passing to look at her. "So he is!" said Sanine, laughing.
In a moment Volochine was all animation. His eyes sparkled, and there was a change in the tone of his voice. "No, that's quite true. But after a while all that sort of thing is apt to become boring. Our Petersburg women are not well made. You know what I mean? They're just bundles of nerves; they've no limbs on them. Now here ..."
Petersburg, and also about the latter's factory, so as to let the others know what a very wealthy and important person his visitor was. The handsome face of this sturdy animal now wore an expression of petty vanity and self-importance. "Everything's the same with us, just the same!" replied Volochine, in a bored tone of voice. "How is it with you?" "Oh!
The first nature prompted her to look with disgust upon men, and life, and herself. "Well, Pavel Lvovitsch," she asked, as her eyelids drooped, "What impression has our poor little out-of-the-way town made upon you?" "The impression which probably he experiences who in the depth of the forest suddenly beholds a radiant flower," replied Volochine, rubbing his hands.
Then began talk which was thoroughly vapid and insincere, the spoken being false, and the unspoken, true. Sanine sat silently listening to this mute but sincere conversation, as expressed by faces, hands, feet and tremulous accents. Lida was unhappy, Volochine longed for all her beauty, while Sarudine loathed Lida, Sanine, Volochine, and the world generally.
"Well," said the other, "it's an awfully good story about a Parisian cocotte." Then, with much wealth of detail, Volochine proceeded to relate a spicy anecdote that pleased his companion vastly. "Yes," said Volochine in conclusion, as he rolled his eyes, "shape's everything in a woman. If she hasn't got that, well, for me she simply doesn't exist."
Yet Volochine was evidently waiting, and Sarudine felt that he must keep to the desired theme of conversation. "Of course, I know," he began, with an exaggerated air of nonchalance, "I know that to you men-about-town these country wenches are extraordinarily attractive. But you're wrong. They're fresh and plump, it's true, but they've no chic; they don't know how to make love artistically."
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