Vladímir Sergyéitch approached her.
“What a magnificent voice Márya Pávlovna has,”—he remarked;—“and with how much feeling she sings!”
“And are you fond of music?”
“Yes ... very.”
“Such a learned man, and you are fond of music!”
“But what makes you think that I am learned?”
“Akh, yes; excuse me, I am always forgetting that you are a positive man. But where has Márya Pávlovna gone? Wait, I’ll go after her.”
And Nadézhda Alexyéevna fluttered out of the drawing-room.
“A giddy-pate, as you see,”—said Ipátoff, coming up to Vladímir Sergyéitch;—“but the kindest heart. And what an education she received you cannot imagine; she can express herself in all languages. Well, they are wealthy people, so that is comprehensible.”
“Yes,”—articulated Vladímir Sergyéitch, abstractedly,—“she is a very charming girl. But permit me to inquire, Was your wife also a native of Little Russia?”