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Princess Betsy drove home from the theater, without waiting for

the end of the last act. She had only just time to go into her

dressing-room, sprinkle her long, pale face with powder, rub it,

set her dress to rights, and order tea in the big drawing-room,

when one after another carriages drove up to her huge house in

Bolshaia Morskaia. Her guests stepped out at the wide entrance,

and the stout porter, who used to read the newspapers in the

mornings behind the glass door, to the edification of the

passers-by, noiselessly opened the immense door, letting the

visitors pass by him into the house.

Almost at the same instant the hostess, with freshly arranged

coiffure and freshened face, walked in at one door and her guests

at the other door of the drawing-room, a large room with dark

walls, downy rugs, and a brightly lighted table, gleaming with

the light of candles, white cloth, silver samovar, and

transparent china tea-things.