Steltchínsky followed her with his eyes, then looked at Vladímir Sergyéitch. Vladímir Sergyéitch, in his turn, looked at him, then stepped aside.
The quadrille soon came to an end. Vladímir Sergyéitch strolled about the hall a little, then he betook himself to the drawing-room and paused at one of the card-tables. Suddenly he felt some one touch his hand from behind; he turned round—before him stood Steltchínsky.
“I must have a couple of words with you in the next room, if you will permit,”—said the latter, in French, very courteously, and with an accent which was not Russian.
Vladímir Sergyéitch followed him.
Steltchínsky halted at a window.
“In the presence of ladies,”—he began, in the same language as before,—“I could not say anything else than what I did say; but I hope you do not think that I really intend to surrender to you my right to the mazurka with M-lle Véretyeff.”
Vladímir Sergyéitch was astounded.
“Why so?”—he asked.
“Because, sir,”—replied Steltchínsky, quietly, laying his hand on his breast and inflating his nostrils,—“I don’t intend to,—that’s all.”
Vladímir Sergyéitch also laid his hand on his breast, but did not inflate his nostrils.