Liza | Page 6

an unstable character; and then there is a certain time of life--and, besides, good principles have not been instilled into them when they were young."
Here Sergius Petrovich drew from his pocket a blue handkerchief, of a check pattern, and began to unfold it.
"Such women, in fact, do exist."
Here Sergius Petrovich applied a corner of the handkerchief to each of his eyes in turn.
"But, generally speaking, if one reflects--that is to say--The dust in the streets is something extraordinary," he ended by saying.
"Maman, maman," exclaimed a pretty little girl of eleven, who came running into the room, "Vladimir Nikolaevich is coming here on horseback."
Maria Dmitrievna rose from her chair. Sergius Petrovich also got up and bowed.
"My respects to Elena Mikhailovna," he said; and, discreetly retiring to a corner, he betook himself to blowing his long straight nose.
"What a lovely horse he has!" continued the little girl. "He was at the garden gate just now, and he told me and Liza that he would come up to the front door."
The sound of hoofs was heard, and a well appointed cavalier, mounted on a handsome bay horse, rode up to the house, and stopped in front of the open window.

III.
"Good-evening, Maria Dmitrievna!" exclaimed the rider's clear and pleasant voice. "How do you like my new purchase?"
Maria Dmitrievna went to the window.
"Good-evening, Woldemar! Ah, what a splendid horse! From whom did you buy it?"
"From our remount-officer. He made me pay dear for it, the rascal."
"What is it's name?"
"Orlando. But that's a stupid name. I want to change it. _Eh bien, eh bien, mon gar?on_. What a restless creature it is!"
The horse neighed, pawed the air, and tossed the foam from its nostrils.
"Come and stroke it, Lenochka; don't be afraid."
Lenochka stretched out her hand from the window, but Orlando suddenly reared and shied. But its rider, who took its proceedings very quietly, gripped the saddle firmly with his knees, laid his whip across the horse's neck, and forced it, in spite of its resistance, to return to the window, "Prenez garde, prenez garde," Maria Dmitrievna kept calling out.
"Now then, stroke him, Lenochka," repeated the horseman; "I don't mean to let him have his own way."
Lenochka stretched out her hand a second time, and timidly touched the quivering nostrils of Orlando, who champed his bit, and kept incessantly fidgeting.
"Bravo!" exclaimed Maria Dmitrievna; "but now get off, and come in."
The rider wheeled his horse sharply round, drove the spurs into its sides, rode down the street at a hand gallop, and turned into the court-yard. In another minute he had crossed the hall and entered the drawing-room, flourishing his whip in the air.
At the same moment there appeared on the threshold of another doorway a tall, well-made, dark-haired girl of nineteen--Maria Dmitrievna's elder daughter, Liza.

IV.
The young man whom we have just introduced to our readers was called Vladimir Nikolaevich Panshine. He occupied a post at St. Petersburg--one devoted to business of a special character--in the Ministry of the Interior. He had come to O. about certain affairs of a temporary nature, and was placed there at the disposal of the governor, General Zonnenberg, to whom he was distantly related.
Panshine's father, a retired cavalry officer,[A] who used to be well known among card-players, was a man of a worn face, with weak eyes, and a nervous contraction about the lips. Throughout his life he always revolved in a distinguished circle, frequenting the English Clubs[B] of both capitals, and being generally considered a man of ability and a pleasant companion, though not a person to be confidently depended upon. In spite of all his ability, he was almost always just on the verge of ruin, and he ultimately left but a small and embarrassed property to his only son. About that son's education, however, he had, after his own fashion, taken great pains.
[Footnote A: A Shtabs-Rotmistr, the second captain in a cavalry regiment.]
[Footnote B: Fashionable clubs having nothing English about them but their name.]
The young Vladimir Nikolaevich spoke excellent French, good English, and bad German. That is just as it should be. Properly brought-up people should of course be ashamed to speak German really well; but to throw out a German word now and then, and generally on facetious topics--that is allowable; "c'est m��me tr��s chic," as the Petersburg Parisians say. Moreover, by the time Vladimir Nikolaevich was fifteen, he already knew how to enter any drawing-room whatsoever without becoming nervous, how to move about it in an agreeable manner, and how to take his leave exactly at the right moment.
The elder Panshine made a number of useful connections for his son; while shuffling the cards between two rubbers, or after a lucky "Great Schlemm,"[A] he never lost the opportunity of saying a word about his young "Volodka" to some important personage, a lover of games of skill. On