This answer seemed to increase her anger, but at that instant another movement of the throng separated us, and I went away to find Olga.
We sat and chatted and laughed together—especially at my mistake with the countess—and presently glancing up I saw opposite to us the woman who had acted the little bit of melodrama with me. She was eyeing us both now angrily.
"Who's that?" I asked, pointing her out to my sister. The girl shook her head gravely.
"I wish you didn't know, Alexis."
"Oh, do I know? I've put my foot in it then, I expect;" and I told her what had happened. She smiled, and then shook her head again, more gravely than before.
"All Moscow knows that you and Madame Paula Tueski are thick friends; and you ought to know that you have set many scandalous tongues wagging."
"Well, she's a very handsome woman," said I, glancing across at her.
"Your favourite style of beauty was always somewhat masculine and fleshly," said Olga in a very sisterly and very severe tone.
"Yes, I'm afraid I've not always admired those things I ought to have admired."
"Say, rather, you have often admired those things which you ought not. Commission, not omission."