Gléboff, and "Sonia," the Princess Solentzeff-Zasiekin--both young,
under thirty, and both attractive and quite _sans gêne_.

"Olga" was little and plump, with an oval face and rather prominent
eyes, but with a way of saying things which enchanted Tamara's ear. Her
manner was casualness itself, and had a wonderful charm; and another
thing struck her now that she saw them in daylight, not a single woman
present--and there were six or seven at least--had even the slightest
powder on her face. They were as nature made them, not the faintest aid
from art in any way. "They cannot be at all coquette like the French,"
she thought, "or even like us in England, or they could not all do
their hair like that whether it suits them or no! But what charm they
have--much more than we, or the French, or any one I know."

They were all so amusing and gay at lunch and talked of teeny scandals
with a whimsical humor at themselves for being so small, which was
delightful, and no one said anything spiteful or mean. Quantities of
pleasant things were planned, and Tamara found her days arranged for a
week ahead.

That night, as they drove to Prince Milaslávski's dinner, an annoying
sense of excitement possessed Tamara. She refused to ask herself why.
Curiosity to see the house of this strange man--most likely--in any
case, emotion enough to make her eyes bright.

It was one of the oldest houses in Petersburg, built in the time of
Catherine, about 1768, and although in a highly florid rococo style of
decoration, as though something gorgeous and barbaric had amalgamated
with the Louis XV., still it had escaped the terrible wave of 1850
vandalism, and stood, except for a few Empire rooms, a monument of its