The Torrents Of Spring

flew up another man, also very well dressed but with a Russian face –
his valet. Polozov observed to him that for the future he should always
take him everywhere with him, for the night before at Frankfort, he, Polozov,
had been left for the night without hot water! The valet portrayed
his horror on his face, and bending down quickly, took off his master’s
goloshes.
‘Is Maria Nikolaevna at home?’ inquired Polozov.
‘Yes, sir. Madam is pleased to be dressing. Madam is pleased to be
dining to-night at the Countess Lasunsky’s.’
‘Ah! there?… Stay! There are things there in the carriage; get them all
yourself and bring them up. And you, Dmitri Pavlovitch,’ added Polozov,
‘take a room for yourself and come in in three-quarters of an hour.
We will dine together.’
Polozov waddled off, while Sanin asked for an inexpensive room for
himself; and after setting his attire to rights, and resting a little, he repaired
to the immense apartment occupied by his Serenity (Durchlaucht)
Prince von Polozov.
He found this ‘prince’ enthroned in a luxurious velvet arm-chair in the
middle of a most magnificent drawing-room. Sanin’s phlegmatic friend
had already had time to have a bath and to array himself in a most
sumptuous satin dressing-gown; he had put a crimson fez on his head.
Sanin approached him and scrutinised him for some time. Polozov was
sitting rigid as an idol; he did not even turn his face in his direction, did
not even move an eyebrow, did not utter a sound. It was truly a sublime
spectacle! After having admired him for a couple of minutes, Sanin was
on the point of speaking, of breaking this hallowed silence, when suddenly
the door from the next room was thrown open, and in the doorway
appeared a young and beautiful lady in a white silk dress trimmed
with black lace, and with diamonds on her arms and neck – Maria
Nikolaevna Polozov. Her thick fair hair fell on both sides of her head,
braided, but not fastened up into a knot.
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