Sanine was silent, and looked at his sister in amazement. “Whatever does she mean?” he thought to himself.
As soon as she appeared, a mysterious influence, at once irresistible and tender, seemed to make itself felt. Like a lion-tamer in a cage filled with wild beasts, Lida stood there, and the men at once became gentle and submissive.
“Well, do you know, Lidia Petrovna …” stammered Sarudine.
At the sound of his voice, Lida’s face assumed a plaintive, helpless expression, and as she glanced swiftly at him there was great grief at her heart not unmixed with tenderness and hope. Yet in a moment such feelings were effaced by a fierce desire to show Sarudine how much he had lost in losing her; to let him see that she was still beautiful, in spite of all the sorrow and shame that he had caused her to endure.
“I don’t want to know anything,” she replied in an imperious, almost a stagy voice, as for a moment she closed her eyes.
Upon Volochine, her appearance produced an extraordinary effect, as his sharp little tongue darted out from his dry lips, and his eyes grew smaller and his whole frame vibrated from sheer physical excitement.
“You haven’t introduced us,” said Lida, looking round at Sarudine.
“Volochine … Pavel Lvovitsch …” stammered the officer.
“And this beauty,” he said to himself, “was my mistress.” He felt honestly pleased to think this, at the same time being anxious to show off before Volochine, while yet bitterly conscious of an irrevocable loss.
Lida languidly addressed her mother.