She bowed to Kollomietzev and withdrew into a corner, where she
sat down on a little stool near the parrot, who began flapping
its wings as soon as it caught sight of her.

"Why so far away, Mariana?" Valentina Mihailovna asked, looking
after her. "Do you want to be near your little friend? Just
think, Simion Petrovitch," she said, turning to Kollomietzev,
"our parrot has simply fallen in love with Mariana!"

"I don't wonder at it!"

"But he simply can't bear me!"

"How extraordinary! Perhaps you tease him."

"Oh, no, I never tease him. On the contrary, I feed him with
sugar. But he won't take anything out of my hand. It is a case of
sympathy and antipathy."

Mariana looked sternly at Valentina Mihailovna and Valentina
Mihailovna looked at her. These two women did not love one
another.

Compared to her aunt Mariana seemed plain. She had a round face,
a large aquiline nose, big bright grey eyes, fine eyebrows, and
thin lips. Her thick brown hair was cut short; she seemed
retiring, but there was something strong and daring, impetuous
and passionate, in the whole of her personality. She had tiny
little hands and feet, and her healthy, lithesome little figure
reminded one of a Florentine statuette of the sixteenth century.