While she chattered on with self-satisfied fluency, it seemed to Boris as if some one scratched a knife on a porcelain plate.
"Why does she roll her eyes so incessantly when she speaks? They do not look more beautiful when one sees so much of their orange-yellow whites," he thought to himself. Aloud he only remarked: "Do you really believe that I would amuse you better than a drawing-room race?"
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed she. "That is splendid! I must repeat it to Marinia Löwenskiold, who raves about you. You will come, will you not?"
"No, I will not come," replied he sharply. "I do not feel myself equal to the task of amusing a dozen gens du monde who are bored."
"Well, as you will," said the Jeliagin, shrugging her shoulders. "Try to persuade him before evening, Natalie, and come, or send me word. I must go, we wish to ride out en bande, at eight. Adieu! Give me your hand, please, Kolia, and come and lunch with us. Anna will be pleased, and you shall have strawberries and whipped cream. Adieu!" With that she went away.
Lensky stared gloomily before him for a while, then he struck his clenched fist on the table so that all the dishes rattled: "From whence did this goose drop down so suddenly?" asked he.
"She lives in the castle in the park," said Natalie. "She has hired it for the summer."
"So!" grumbled Lensky. "Now if I had known that, I should never have thought of coming here."
"But I wrote you of it."
"Not a word."