“We have just been to your place,” said Sanine.
Soloveitchik blushed and smiled, as he timidly replied:
“Oh! I beg your pardon! I am so sorry, but I never thought that you were coming, or else I would have stayed at home. I am just out for a little walk.” His wistful eyes shone.
“Come along with us,” said Sanine, kindly, as he took hold of his arm.
Soloveitchik, apparently delighted, accepted the proffered arm, thrust his cap on the back of his head, and walked along as if, instead of Sanine’s arm, it was something precious that he was holding. His mouth seemed to reach from ear to ear.
Purple-faced, and with distended cheeks, the members of the regimental band flung out their deafening, brazen notes upon the air, stimulated in their efforts by a smartly-dressed bandmaster who looked like a pert little sparrow, and who zealously flourished his bâton. Grouped round the band-stand were clerks, shopmen, schoolboys in Hessian boots, and little girls wearing brightly-coloured handkerchiefs round their heads. In the main walks and side-walks, as if engaged in an endless quadrille, there moved a vivacious throng, composed of officers, students, and ladies.
They soon met Dubova, Schafroff, and Yourii Svarogitsch, and exchanged smiles as they passed. Then, after they had strolled through the entire garden, they again met, Sina Karsavina being now one of the party, looking charmingly graceful in her light summer dress.
“Why are you walking by yourselves, like that?” asked Dubova.
“Come; and join us.”
“Let us go down one of the side-walks,” suggested Schafroff. “Here, it’s so terribly crowded.”