"Do not incommode yourself, I beg you will not. Step before me, if you please," said Tchichikoff.
"No, pardon me, but I shall not suffer such a civil and well-bred guest as you are to follow after me."
"Why, you overwhelm me with civilities! Pray pass on."
"Never mind, do me the favour to walk in first."
"But, my dear Sir, why all these ceremonies?"
"Because—and if you please," said Maniloff again, using now one of his most enticing smiles, whilst continuing his civil gesticulations.
At last, both friends entered the room backwards, at the same time squeezing one another gently against the door.
"Allow me to introduce you to my wife," said Maniloff. "My darling, allow me to introduce to you our friend Pavel Ivanovitch Tchichikoff."
And in truth, Tchichikoff now beheld for the first time a lady, whom he had not observed during the moments that elapsed whilst he was exchanging complimentary gestures with his host. She was pretty, and dressed with taste. The light gris de perle coloured morning capotte became her exceedingly well; her finely-shaped hand was in the act of throwing some needlework hastily upon the table, and snatching up instead a fine batiste pocket-handkerchief with prettily-embroidered corners and initials. She rose slightly from her seat on the sofa, and gracefully welcomed her guest; and Tchichikoff hastened with evident eagerness to kiss her hand in the old Russian fashion.
Madame Maniloff spoke in a slightly affected tone of voice, and assured her guest that he caused them a real pleasure indeed by his arrival, and that her husband had not allowed a day to pass without speaking of him, his friend, continually.