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Her eyes sparkled, and her rosy lips could not keep from smiling

from the consciousness of her own attractiveness. She had

scarcely entered the ballroom and reached the throng of ladies,

all tulle, ribbons, lace, and flowers, waiting to be asked to

dance-Kitty was never one of that throng-when she was asked for a

waltz, and asked by the best partner, the first star in the

hierarchy of the ballroom, a renowned director of dances, a

married man, handsome and well-built, Yegorushka Korsunsky. He

had only just left the Countess Bonina, with whom he had danced

the first half of the waltz, and, scanning his kingdom-that is to

say, a few couples who had started dancing-he caught sight of

Kitty, entering, and flew up to her with that peculiar, easy

amble which is confined to directors of balls. Without even

asking her if she cared to dance, he put out his arm to encircle

her slender waist. She looked round for someone to give her fan

to, and their hostess, smiling to her, took it.