Chapter 23 - Page 2

though she looked the elder of the two. She had that
exceedingly overstuffed appearance which old maids always present
who are short of stature but wear corsets. It seemed as though
her healthiness had shifted upwards to the point of choking her,
her short, fat hands would not meet below her projecting bust,
and the line of her waist was scarcely visible at all.

Notwithstanding that the Princess Maria Ivanovna had black hair
and eyes, while Sophia Ivanovna had white hair and large,
vivacious, tranquilly blue eyes (a rare combination), there was a
great likeness between the two sisters, for they had the same
expression, nose, and lips. The only difference was that Sophia's
nose and lips were a trifle coarser than Maria's, and that, when
she smiled, those features inclined towards the right,
whereas Maria's inclined towards the left. Sophia, to judge by
her dress and coiffure, was still youthful at heart, and would
never have displayed grey curls, even if she had possessed them.
Yet at first her glance and bearing towards me seemed very proud,
and made me nervous, whereas I at once felt at home with the
Princess. Perhaps it was only Sophia's stoutness and a certain
resemblance to portraits of Catherine the Great that gave her, in
my eyes, a haughty aspect, but at all events I felt quite
intimidated when she looked at me intently and said, "Friends of
our friends are our friends also." I became reassured and changed
my opinion about her only when, after saying those words, she
opened her mouth and sighed deeply. It may be that she owed her
habit of sighing after every few words--with a great distention
of the mouth and a slight drooping of her large blue eyes--to her
stoutness, yet it was none the less one which expressed so much
good-humour that I at once lost all fear of her, and found her
actually attractive. Her eyes were charming, her voice pleasant
and musical, and even the flowing lines of her fullness seemed to
my youthful vision not wholly lacking in beauty.

I had imagined that Lubov Sergievna, as my friend's friend, would
at once say something friendly and familiar to me; yet, after
gazing at me fixedly for a while, as though in doubt whether the
remark she was about to make to me would not be too friendly, she
at length asked me what faculty I was in. After that she stared
at me as before, in evident hesitation as to whether or not to
say something civil and familiar, until, remarking her
perplexity, I besought her with a look to speak freely. Yet all
she then said was, "They tell me the Universities pay very little
attention to science now," and turned away to call her little
dog.

All that evening she spoke only in disjointed fragments of this