sometimes felt positively irritated as I looked at them, but Pasinkov
only smiled and shook his head. Old Zlotnitsky took no part in our
games, and even looked at us rather disapprovingly from the door of his
study. Only once, utterly unexpectedly, he came in to us, and proposed
that whoever had next to pay a forfeit should waltz with him; we, of
course, agreed. It happened to be Tatiana Vassilievna who had to pay
the forfeit. She crimsoned all over, and was confused and abashed like
a girl of fifteen; but her husband at once told Sophia to go to the
piano, while he went up to his wife, and waltzed two rounds with her of
the old-fashioned _trois temps_ waltz. I remember how his bilious,
gloomy face, with its never-smiling eyes, kept appearing and
disappearing as he slowly turned round, his stern expression never
relaxing. He waltzed with a long step and a hop, while his wife
pattered rapidly with her feet, and huddled up with her face close to
his chest, as though she were in terror. He led her to her place, bowed
to her, went back to his room and shut the door. Sophia was just
getting up, but Varvara asked her to go on, went up to Pasinkov, and
holding out her hand, with an awkward smile, said, 'Will you like a
turn?' Pasinkov was surprised, but he jumped up--he was always
distinguished by the most delicate courtesy--and took Varvara by the
waist, but he slipped down at the first step, and leaving hold of his
partner at once, rolled right under the pedestal on which the parrot's
cage was standing.... The cage fell, the parrot was frightened and
shrieked, 'Present arms!' Every one laughed.... Zlotnitsky appeared at
his study door, looked grimly at us, and slammed the door to. From that
time forth, one had only to allude to this incident before Varvara, and
she would go off into peals of laughter at once, and look at Pasinkov,
as though anything cleverer than his behaviour on that occasion it was
impossible to conceive.