“Stop”...
“But why will you not let me say to-night what you have so often listened to with condescension—and just recently, too?”...
“Because I do not like repetitions,” she answered, laughing.
“Oh! I have been bitterly mistaken!... I thought, fool that I was, that these epaulettes, at least, would give me the right to hope... No, it would have been better for me to have remained for ever in that contemptible soldier’s cloak, to which, probably, I was indebted for your attention”...
“As a matter of fact, the cloak is much more becoming to you”...
At that moment I went up and bowed to Princess Mary. She blushed a little, and went on rapidly:
“Is it not true, Monsieur Pechorin, that the grey cloak suits Monsieur Grushnitski much better?”...
“I do not agree with you,” I answered: “he is more youthful-looking still in his uniform.”
That was a blow which Grushnitski could not bear: like all boys, he has pretensions to being an old man; he thinks that the deep traces of passions upon his countenance take the place of the lines scored by Time. He cast a furious glance at me, stamped his foot, and took himself off.
“Confess now,” I said to Princess Mary: “that although he has always been most ridiculous, yet not so long ago he seemed to you to be interesting... in the grey cloak?”...