“I am not in the habit of jesting in general,”—replied Steltchínsky, pompously;—“and particularly with people whom I do not know. You will not renounce the mazurka?”—he added, after a brief pause.
“I will not,”—retorted Vladímir Sergyéitch, as though deliberating.
“Very good! We will fight to-morrow.”
“Very well.”
“To-morrow morning my second will call upon you.”
And with a courteous inclination, Steltchínsky withdrew, evidently well pleased with himself.
Vladímir Sergyéitch remained a few minutes longer by the window.
“Just look at that, now!”—he thought.—“This is the result of thy new acquaintances! What possessed me to come? Good! Splendid!”
But at last he recovered himself, and went out into the hall.
In the hall they were already dancing the polka. Before Vladímir Sergyéitch’s eyes Márya Pávlovna flitted past with Piótr Alexyéitch, whom he had not noticed up to that moment; she seemed pale, and even sad; then Nadézhda Alexyéevna darted past, all beaming and joyous, with some youthful, bow-legged, but fiery artillery officer; on the second round, she was dancing with Steltchínsky. Steltchínsky shook his hair violently when he danced.