She looks through the smoke. There sits Lensky in a low chair. Now she sees him plainly, sees him as she had never seen him before. His face is very red. He laughs to himself and strikes his knee with a coarse gesture. He is telling some racy story, and with an unpleasant glance presses the hand of a woman who sits near him. How they all crowd round him!
Mascha turns away.
When Nikolai, who has been very busy assisting his aunt all the evening to do the honors, resting from his labors, stands with Sonia in the vestibule, he hears the light rustle of a silk dress. He looks up. There, up the stairs, with dragging feet, deeply lowered head, and hand resting heavily on the balustrade, goes a little white figure.
"Maschenka," calls Nikolai in Russian, "is anything the matter?"
"No!" answers a voice choked with defiance and grief.
"Will you not at least wait until father goes?" asks Colia.
The little form quivers, a half-suppressed sob escapes her, then she says shortly, violently: "No."
A half-hour later all is quiet, the last guests have vanished, the servants extinguish the lights.
XII.
"Where is Mascha?" asks Lensky, as Nikolai helps him into his overcoat.