Chapter 38 - Page 2

strangers, became plunged in my usual
insuperable and ever-growing shyness. In fact, I remained silent
on that spot almost the whole evening!

Nevertheless, while a waltz was in progress, one of the young
princesses came to me and asked me, with the sort of official
kindness common to all her family, why I was not dancing. I can
remember blushing hotly at the question, but at the same time
feeling--for all my efforts to prevent it--a self-satisfied smile
steal over my face as I began talking, in the most inflated and
long-winded French, such rubbish as even now, after dozens of
years, it shames me to recall. It must have been the effect of
the music, which, while exciting my nervous sensibility, drowned
(as I supposed) the less intelligible portion of my utterances.
Anyhow, I went on speaking of the exalted company present, and of
the futility of men and women, until I had got myself into such a
tangle that I was forced to stop short in the middle of a word of
a sentence which I found myself powerless to conclude.

Even the worldly-minded young Princess was shocked by my conduct,
and gazed at me in reproach; whereat I burst out laughing. At
this critical moment, Woloda, who had remarked that I was
conversing with great animation, and probably was curious to know
what excuses I was making for not dancing, approached us with
Dubkoff. Seeing, however, my smiling face and the Princess's
frightened mien, as well as overhearing the appalling rubbish
with which I concluded my speech, he turned red in the face, and
wheeled round again. The Princess also rose and left me. I
continued to smile, but in such a state of agony from the
consciousness of my stupidity that I felt ready to sink into the
floor. Likewise I felt that, come what might, I must move about
and say something, in order to effect a change in my position.
Accordingly I approached Dubkoff, and asked him if he had danced
many waltzes with her that night. This I feigned to say in a gay
and jesting manner, yet in reality I was imploring help of the
very Dubkoff to whom I had cried "Hold your tongue!" on the
night of the matriculation dinner. By way of answer, he made as
though he had not heard me, and turned away. Next, I approached
Woloda, and said with an effort and in a similar tone of assumed
gaiety: "Hullo, Woloda! Are you played out yet?" He merely looked
at me as much as to say, "You wouldn't speak to me like that if
we were alone," and left me without a word, in the evident fear
that I might continue to attach myself to his person.

"My God! Even my own brother deserts me!" I thought to myself.

Yet somehow I had not the courage to depart, but remained
standing where I was until the