Kupfer grinned.—"That I cannot say…. Of late she has found an asylum with the Princess. The Princess, as thou knowest, is a patron of all such people…. And it is probable that thou sawest her that evening."
Arátoff started inwardly, faintly … but made no answer.
"She has even acted somewhere in country districts," went on Kupfer, "and, on the whole, she was created for the theatre. Thou shalt see for thyself!"
"Is her name Clara?" asked Arátoff.
"Yes, Clara…."
"Clara!" interrupted Arátoff again.—"It cannot be!"
"Why not?—Clara it is, … Clara Mílitch; that is not her real name … but that is what she is called. She is to sing a romance by Glinka … and one by Tchaikóvsky, and then she will recite the letter from 'Evgény Onyégin'[55]—Come now! Wilt thou take a ticket?"
"But when is it to be?"
"To-morrow … to-morrow, at half-past one, in a private hall, on
Ostozhyónka Street…. I will come for thee. A ticket at five rubles?…
Here it is…. No, this is a three-ruble ticket.—Here it is.—And here
is the affiche.[56]—I am one of the managers."
Arátoff reflected. Platonída Ivánovna entered the room at that moment and, glancing at his face, was suddenly seized with agitation.—"Yásha," she exclaimed, "what ails thee? Why art thou so excited? Feódor Feódorovitch, what hast thou been saying to him?"