"Two gentlemen," I answered. "They're writing something."

"Give him my greetings and thanks," she repeated, bending her head
sideways, and, reading the letter as she walked, she went noiselessly
out. I saw few women at that time, and this lady of whom I had a
passing glimpse made an impression on me. As I walked home I recalled
her face and the delicate fragrance about her, and fell to dreaming.
By the time I got home Orlov had gone out.

II

And so my relations with my employer were quiet and peaceful, but
still the unclean and degrading element which I so dreaded on
becoming a footman was conspicuous and made itself felt every day.
I did not get on with Polya. She was a well-fed and pampered hussy
who adored Orlov because he was a gentleman and despised me because
I was a footman. Probably, from the point of view of a real flunkey
or cook, she was fascinating, with her red cheeks, her turned-up
nose, her coquettish glances, and the plumpness, one might almost
say fatness, of her person. She powdered her face, coloured her
lips and eyebrows, laced herself in, and wore a bustle, and a bangle
made of coins. She walked with little ripping steps; as she walked
she swayed, or, as they say, wriggled her shoulders and back. The
rustle of her skirts, the creaking of her stays, the jingle her
bangle and the vulgar smell of lip salve, toilet vinegar, and scent
stolen from her master, aroused me whilst I was doing the rooms
with her in the morning a sensation as though I were taking part
with her in some abomination.

Either because I did not steal as she did, or because I displayed