Volintsev grew confused.
Natalya looked at him with friendly encouragement, and again said ‘merci!’
‘You know,’ continued Sergei Pavlitch after a long pause, ‘that not such things.... But why am I saying this? you know everything, of course.’
At that instant a bell rang in the house.
‘Ah! la cloche du diner!’ cried Mlle. Boncourt, ‘rentrons.’
‘Quel dommage,’ thought the old French lady to herself as she mounted the balcony steps behind Volintsev and Natalya, ‘quel dommage que ce charmant garçon ait si peu de ressources dans la conversation,’ which may be translated, ‘you are a good fellow, my dear boy, but rather a fool.’
The baron did not arrive to dinner. They waited half-an-hour for him. Conversation flagged at the table. Sergei Pavlitch did nothing but gaze at Natalya, near whom he was sitting, and zealously filled up her glass with water. Pandalevsky tried in vain to entertain his neighbour, Alexandra Pavlovna; he was bubbling over with sweetness, but she hardly refrained from yawning.
Bassistoff was rolling up pellets of bread and thinking of nothing at all; even Pigasov was silent, and when Darya Mihailovna remarked to him that he had not been very polite to-day, he replied crossly, ‘When am I polite? that’s not in my line;’ and smiling grimly he added, ‘have a little patience; I am only kvas, you know, du simple Russian kvas; but your Gentleman of the Bedchamber——’
‘Bravo!’ cried Darya Mihailovna, ‘Pigasov is jealous, he is jealous already!’
But Pigasov made her no rejoinder, and only gave her a rather cross look.