Sophie did not need to be urged to tell him of her idolized friend. The harshness, and at the same time the boundless goodness, of her nature she described to him, the strange mixture of man-like strength of decision and the charming loveliness with which she could make good her vexing roughness. She repeated to him Nita's gay traits d'esprit, she showed him Nita's studies.
An hour, an hour and a half he remained in the studio. Sophie made him a cup of tea, told him of Nita's family, that she had a cousin in Paris whose name was Count Bärenburg, attaché to the Russian embassy, a very good-looking man, and very amusing in conversation, without much depth. He often visited Nita in the studio. Nikolai must know him.
Yes, Nikolai said he knew him, and Sophie talked on until at length twilight fell. Nikolai accompanied her to the house-door in the Rue Murillo, and assured her that for a long time nothing had so truly pleased him as to see her again.
What conclusions Sonia might draw from this unusual warmth of her cousin he did not for a moment consider.
Two days later, at the opera--he sat in the parquet--he heard some Paris dandies whispering of the beauty of a new apparition. These young men's opera-glasses all aimed at the same front row box. He looked up. There, near an old lady whom he had seen as a child in St. Petersburg with his mother, and had recently met again in Raris, Lady Bärenburg, he saw Nita. She wore a white low-neck dress, and a few red roses on her breast.
Meanwhile the representation of "L'Africaine" went on with all the effect which is given to a Meyerbeer opera in Paris. Nikolai scarcely noticed it. Unchangedly he looked up and observed the young girl, each characteristic movement, the incessantly changing expression of her face, on which light and shade seemed to chase each other.
She attracted him as everything mysterious attracts one. Why did she affect this mocking coldness? he asked himself. Why did she conceal the most beautiful part of herself?
At the close of the performance, he stood at the edge of the broad stairs to see her pass by. From afar he discovered her gold-lit hair. Now she came by him. She was leaning on Bärenburg's arm. She was wrapped in a white wrap whose fur border came up to her ear tips and concealed half her face.
His look met that of the young girl. Before he had time to remove his hat Nita had turned away her head with a short, repellant gesture.
The sweetness of fresh roses passed by him with her. He stood there as if rooted to the ground. Why had she avoided his greeting? What had he done? Rage gnawed at his heart; no longer would he trouble himself about this arrogant girl; it was indeed scarcely worth the trouble to rack his brains as to what secret lay hidden in her cold gray eyes.