with elaborately careless curiosity; Shubin treated him coldly; but
Elena astounded him. She was expecting him; she had put on for him
the very dress she wore on the day of their first interview in the
chapel; but she welcomed him so calmly, and was so polite and
carelessly gay, that no one looking at her could have believed that
this girl's fate was already decided, and that it was only the secret
consciousness of happy love that gave fire to her features, lightness
and charm to all her gestures. She poured out tea in Zoya's place,
jested, chattered; she knew Shubin would be watching her, that
Insarov was incapable of wearing a mask, and incapable of appearing
indifferent, and she had prepared herself beforehand. She was not
mistaken; Shubin never took his eyes off her, and Insarov was very
silent and gloomy the whole evening. Elena was so happy that she even
felt an inclination to tease him.

'Oh, by the way,' she said to him suddenly, 'is your plan getting on
at all?'

Insarov was taken aback.

'What plan?' he said.

'Why, have you forgotten?' she rejoined, laughing in his face; he
alone could tell the meaning of that happy laugh: 'Your Bulgarian
selections for Russian readers?'

'_Quelle bourde_!' muttered Nikolai Artemyevitch between his teeth.

Zoya sat down to the piano. Elena gave a just perceptible shrug of the
shoulders, and with her eyes motioned Insarov to the door. Then she