"Well, yes, of course!"—hastily interposed her sister; "is it possible that thou dost not recall it?"
And she looked her intently in the eye.
"Akh, yes, yes ... that is true!"—replied Pelagéya, suddenly.
"Ehe—he!" I thought: "I don't believe you were in Mikhaílovskoe, my dear."
"Will not you sing us something, Pelagéya Feódorovna?"—suddenly began a tall young man, with a crest of fair hair and turbidly-sweet little eyes.
"Really, I don't know,"—said Miss Badáeff.
"And do you sing?"—I exclaimed with vivacity, springing up briskly from my seat. "For heaven's sake .... akh, for heaven's sake, do sing us something."
"But what shall I sing to you?"
"Don't you know,"—I began, using my utmost endeavours to impart to my face an indifferent and easy expression,—"an Italian song ... it begins this way: 'Passa quei colli'?"
"Yes," replied Pelagéya with perfect innocence. "Do you want me to sing that? Very well."