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"
Oui
,
madame
,
"
replied
he
,
looking
around
him
.
"
You
have
not
yet
seen
my
husband
?
"
"
Non
,
madame
.
"
He
smiled
quite
inappropriately
.
"
You
have
been
in
Paris
recently
,
I
believe
?
I
suppose
it
's
very
interesting
.
"
"
Very
interesting
.
"
The
countess
exchanged
glances
with
Anna
Mikháylovna
.
The
latter
understood
that
she
was
being
asked
to
entertain
this
young
man
,
and
sitting
down
beside
him
she
began
to
speak
about
his
father
;
but
he
answered
her
,
as
he
had
the
countess
,
only
in
monosyllables
.
The
other
guests
were
all
conversing
with
one
another
.
"
The
Razumóvskis
...
It
was
charming
...
You
are
very
kind
...
Countess
Apráksina
...
"
was
heard
on
all
sides
.
The
countess
rose
and
went
into
the
ballroom
.
"
Márya
Dmítrievna
?
"
came
her
voice
from
there
.
"
Herself
,
"
came
the
answer
in
a
rough
voice
,
and
Márya
Dmítrievna
entered
the
room
.
All
the
unmarried
ladies
and
even
the
married
ones
except
the
very
oldest
rose
.
Márya
Dmítrievna
paused
at
the
door
.
Tall
and
stout
,
holding
high
her
fifty-year-old
head
with
its
gray
curls
,
she
stood
surveying
the
guests
,
and
leisurely
arranged
her
wide
sleeves
as
if
rolling
them
up
.
Márya
Dmítrievna
always
spoke
in
Russian
.
