The young man whom we have just introduced to our readers was
called Vladimir Nikolaevich Panshine. He occupied a post at St.
Petersburg--one devoted to business of a special character--in the
Ministry of the Interior. He had come to O. about certain affairs of
a temporary nature, and was placed there at the disposal of the
governor, General Zonnenberg, to whom he was distantly related.

Panshine's father, a retired cavalry officer,[A] who used to be well
known among card-players, was a man of a worn face, with weak eyes,
and a nervous contraction about the lips. Throughout his life he
always revolved in a distinguished circle, frequenting the English
Clubs[B] of both capitals, and being generally considered a man
of ability and a pleasant companion, though not a person to be
confidently depended upon. In spite of all his ability, he was almost
always just on the verge of ruin, and he ultimately left but a small
and embarrassed property to his only son. About that son's education,
however, he had, after his own fashion, taken great pains.

[Footnote A: A _Shtabs-Rotmistr_, the second captain in a cavalry
regiment.]

[Footnote B: Fashionable clubs having nothing English about them but
their name.]

The young Vladimir Nikolaevich spoke excellent French, good English,
and bad German. That is just as it should be. Properly brought-up
people should of course be ashamed to speak German really well; but
to throw out a German word now and then, and generally on facetious
topics--that is allowable; "_c'est même très chic_," as the Petersburg
Parisians say. Moreover, by the time Vladimir Nikolaevich was fifteen,