Astley was a man so shy, reserved, and taciturn in his manner
that one might have looked for anything from him. At all events
the Frenchman accorded him only the slightest of greetings, and
scarcely even looked at him. Certainly he did not seem to be
afraid of him; which was intelligible enough. But why did Mlle.
Blanche also never look at the Englishman?--particularly since,
a propos of something or another, the Marquis had declared the
Englishman to be immensely and indubitably rich? Was not that a
sufficient reason to make Mlle. Blanche look at the Englishman?
Anyway the General seemed extremely uneasy; and, one could well
understand what a telegram to announce the death of his mother
would mean for him!

Although I thought it probable that Polina was avoiding me for a
definite reason, I adopted a cold and indifferent air; for I
felt pretty certain that it would not be long before she
herself approached me. For two days, therefore, I devoted my
attention to Mlle. Blanche. The poor General was in despair! To
fall in love at fifty-five, and with such vehemence, is indeed a
misfortune! And add to that his widowerhood, his children, his
ruined property, his debts, and the woman with whom he had
fallen in love! Though Mlle. Blanche was extremely good-looking,
I may or may not be understood when I say that she had one of
those faces which one is afraid of. At all events, I myself have
always feared such women. Apparently about twenty-five years of
age, she was tall and broad-shouldered, with shoulders that
sloped; yet though her neck and bosom were ample in their
proportions, her skin was dull yellow in colour, while her hair
(which was extremely abundant--sufficient to make two
coiffures) was as black as Indian ink. Add to that a pair of