“No, you,” she protested, trying to get behind me.
“But you’ve got to introduce me,” I objected, trying to get behind her.
Then while we were rotating round each other suddenly the eyes of my belle-mère fell on us, and as they dwelt on Anastasia her mouth grew grimmer, and her nose more aggressive. Her whole manner bristled with pugnacity.
“Tiens! Tiens! if it isn’t, of all the world, my little Tasie.”
Anastasia went forward meekly; I followed sheepishly.
“Yes, Mémé,” she said; “I’ve come to visit you.”
The majestic woman relaxed not, nor did she make any motion to embrace her shrinking offspring.
“Well,” she said, after a long, severe silence, “I imagine that it is not all for pleasure you come to see your poor old mother. What is it?”
“Mémé, I want to present to you my husband.”
Here I bowed impressively. The big woman with the folded arms shifted her gaze to me. It was a searching, sneering, almost derisive gaze, and I hated her on the spot.