The thought of his astonishing experiences with "young girls" in St. Petersburg came to his mind, and did its share in throwing a distorting light on Mascha's exaltation.
He is vexed at what has happened; more than that, he is ashamed of it; but he denies any obligation to expiate his precipitation by a marriage.
It is the Jeliagins' reception day. As usual, Mascha makes the tea. In vain has she begged to be excused from this to-day. Anna, who hates to do it, would hear nothing of this.
Eight days have passed since she went to him; she is wholly without news of him. Only through strangers has she learned he is wounded, slightly, not dangerously.
Mechanically she fulfils her duty. She looks no one in the face; she does not hear if they speak to her.
The opening of a door, the entrance of a visitor, causes her each time a painful excitement. She does not know who comes, nor to whom she gives tea, nor what the people say. She has the same thought, the same feeling of being plunged in a black, miry abyss in which she can find no ground for her feet.
Sophie and Nita have both come to-day. Nita, who has visited Mascha many times already since Lensky's departure, inquires after her health, and why she has not let herself be seen in the last week.
"How troubled you look to-day," whispers she, taking the child's pale face--they are a little apart from the others--between her hands, "and how pale! Do you want anything, my angel? Are you vexed over anything?"
"No, no; I do not know what you mean," replies Mascha, irritably, and frees herself.
New guests come, Madame Jeliagin desires tea for a lady. Mascha again steps to the samovar.
"Have you seen Countess Bärenburg yet, Madame Jeliagin?" asks a certain Mrs. Joyce.
"No; I did not think that she was in Paris."
"She is only here for a short time," continues Mrs. Joyce; "she has come from Vienna."
"To take care of her son?" asks Madame Jeliagin. "As I hear, he was wounded in a duel."
"Ah! that was nothing; he has already recovered. He indeed still carries his arm in a sling, but I met him yesterday in the Bois. The Countess has come here to her son's betrothal. Bärenburg is betrothed to Sylvia Anthropos."
"Since about ten days; Sylvia told me to-day," says Mrs. Joyce.