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He was a very young man, about two and twenty, with a dark mobile

face that looked older than his years. He was fashionably dressed

and foppish, with his hair parted in the middle, well combed and

pomaded, and wore a number of rings on his well-scrubbed fingers

and a gold chain on his waistcoat. He said a couple of words in

French to a foreigner who was in the room, and said them fairly

correctly.

"Luise Ivanovna, you can sit down," he said casually to the

gaily-dressed, purple-faced lady, who was still standing as

though not venturing to sit down, though there was a chair beside

her.