odor of vinegar in addition. A door from the hall led into a brightly
lighted room. The medical student and the artist stopped at this door
and, craning their necks, peeped into the room.

"Buona sera, signori, rigolleto--hugenotti--traviata!" began the artist,
with a theatrical bow.

"Havanna--tarakano--pistoleto!" said the medical student, pressing his
cap to his breast and bowing low.

Vassilyev was standing behind them. He would have liked to make a
theatrical bow and say something silly, too, but he only smiled, felt an
awkwardness that was like shame, and waited impatiently for what would
happen next.

A little fair girl of seventeen or eighteen, with short hair, in a short
light-blue frock with a bunch of white ribbon on her bosom, appeared in
the doorway.

"Why do you stand at the door?" she said. "Take off your coats and come
into the drawing-room."

The medical student and the artist, still talking Italian, went into the
drawing-room. Vassilyev followed them irresolutely.

"Gentlemen, take off your coats!" the flunkey said sternly; "you can't
go in like that."

In the drawing-room there was, besides the girl, another woman, very
stout and tall, with a foreign face and bare arms. She was sitting near