'Black as coal!' Kupfer shouted cheerily, as he vanished.

Aratov went away to his room, while Platonida Ivanovna stood rooted to the
spot, repeating in a whisper, 'Lord, succour us! Succour us, Lord!'


IV

The big drawing-room in the private house in Ostozhonka was already half
full of visitors when Aratov and Kupfer arrived. Dramatic performances had
sometimes been given in this drawing-room, but on this occasion there was
no scenery nor curtain visible. The organisers of the matinee had confined
themselves to fixing up a platform at one end, putting upon it a piano,
a couple of reading-desks, a few chairs, a table with a bottle of water
and a glass on it, and hanging red cloth over the door that led to the
room allotted to the performers. In the first row was already sitting the
princess in a bright green dress. Aratov placed himself at some distance
from her, after exchanging the barest of greetings with her. The public
was, as they say, of mixed materials; for the most part young men from
educational institutions. Kupfer, as one of the stewards, with a white
ribbon on the cuff of his coat, fussed and bustled about busily; the
princess was obviously excited, looked about her, shot smiles in all
directions, talked with those next her ... none but men were sitting
near her. The first to appear on the platform was a flute-player of
consumptive appearance, who most conscientiously dribbled away--what am I
saying?--piped, I mean--a piece also of consumptive tendency; two persons
shouted bravo! Then a stout gentleman in spectacles, of an exceedingly
solid, even surly aspect, read in a bass voice a sketch of Shtchedrin; the
sketch was applauded, not the reader; then the pianist, whom Aratov had