intimate with no one except the student from whom she took lessons in
Latin. This student, whose name was Mikhalevich, an enthusiast, and
somewhat of a poet, grew warmly attached to Lavretsky, and quite
accidentally became the cause of a serious change in his fortunes.

[Footnote A: The students at the Russian universities used to wear a
uniform, but they no longer do so.]

One evening, when Lavretsky was at the theatre--he never missed a
single representation, for Mochalof was then at the summit of his
glory--he caught sight of a young girl in a box on the first tier.
Never before had his heart beaten so fast, though at that time no
woman ever passed before his stern eyes without sending its pulses
flying. Leaning on the velvet border of the box, the girl sat very
still. Youthful animation lighted up every feature of her beautiful
face; artistic feeling shone in her lovely eyes, which looked out with
a soft, attentive gaze from underneath delicately pencilled eyebrows,
in the quick smile of her expressive lips, in the bearing of her head,
her arms, her neck. As to her dress, it was exquisite. By her side sat
a sallow, wrinkled woman of five-and-forty, wearing a low dress and a
black cap, with an unmeaning smile on her vacant face, to which she
strove to give an aspect of attention. In the background of the box
appeared an elderly man in a roomy coat, and with a high cravat. His
small eyes had an expression of stupid conceit, modified by a kind of
cringing suspicion; his mustache and whiskers were dyed, he had an
immense meaningless forehead, and flabby cheeks: his whole appearance
was that of a retired general.

Lavretsky kept his eyes fixed on the girl who had made such an
impression on him. Suddenly the door of the box opened, and