Ilya breathed in the costly perfume that floated round this woman, he looked sidelong at her and listened to her voice. She spoke with extraordinary calm and self-possession, there was something drowsy in her voice and it seemed as though a powerful, delightful scent streamed from her words also.
"D'you know, Vyera, I'm still considering if I shall go to Poluektov or not."
"I can't advise you."
"Perhaps I will. He's old and rich, and those are two important points. But he's miserly. I want five thousand roubles in my name in the bank, and a hundred and fifty roubles a month, and he only offers three thousand and a hundred."
"Don't talk of it now, Lipotshka!"
"All right, as you like," said Lipa, quietly, and turned again to Ilya. "Now, young man, let us talk a little. I like you, you've a nice face and serious eyes. What will you say to that?"
"I? I shan't say anything," said he, laughing carelessly, but feeling clearly how this woman ensnared him with her magic.
"Nothing? oh! you're bored;—what are you?"
"Pedlar."
"R—really? I thought you were a clerk in a bank, or in some shop. You look very good form."