'Philosophies,' continued Pigasov, 'are elevated points of view!
That's another abomination of mine; these elevated points of view.
And what can one see from above? Upon my soul, if you want to buy a
horse, you don't look at it from a steeple!'

'This baron was going to bring you an essay?' said Alexandra Pavlovna.

'Yes, an essay,' replied Darya Mihailovna, with exaggerated
carelessness, 'on the relation of commerce to manufactures in Russia.
. . . But don't be afraid; we will not read it here. . . . I did not
invite you for that. _Le baron est aussi aimable que savant_. And he
speaks Russian beautifully! _C'est un vrai torrent . . . il vous
entraine_!

'He speaks Russian so beautifully,' grumbled Pigasov, 'that he
deserves a eulogy in French.'

'You may grumble as you please, African Semenitch. . . . It's in keeping
with your ruffled locks. . . . I wonder, though, why he does not come.
Do you know what, _messieurs et mesdames_' added Darya Mihailovna,
looking round, 'we will go into the garden. There is still nearly an
hour to dinner-time and the weather is glorious.'

All the company rose and went into the garden.

Darya Mihailovna's garden stretched right down to the river. There
were many alleys of old lime-trees in it, full of sunlight and shade
and fragrance and glimpses of emerald green at the ends of the walks,
and many arbours of acacias and lilacs.