"Come into the reception room. I have something very important to speak to you about."
Abramka followed in silence. He stepped softly on tiptoe, as if afraid of waking some one.
"Sit down, Abramka, listen—but give me your word of honour, you won't tell any one?" Tatyana Grigoryevna began, reddening a bit. She was ashamed to have to let the tailor Abramka into her secret, but since there was no getting around it, she quieted herself and in an instant had regained her ease.
"I don't know what you are speaking of, Mrs. Zarubkin," Abramka rejoined. He assumed a somewhat injured manner. "Have you ever heard of Abramka ever babbling anything out? You certainly know that in my profession—you know everybody has some secret to be kept."
"Oh, you must have misunderstood me, Abramka. What sort of secrets do you mean?"
"Well, one lady is a little bit one-sided, another lady"—he pointed to his breast—"is not quite full enough, another lady has scrawny arms—such things as that have to be covered up or filled out or laced in, so as to look better. That is where our art comes in. But we are in duty bound not to say anything about it."
Tatyana Grigoryevna smiled.
"Well, I can assure you I am all right that way. There is nothing about me that needs to be covered up or filled out."
"Oh, as if I didn't know that! Everybody knows that Mrs. Zarubkin's figure is perfect," Abramka cried, trying to flatter his new customer.
Mrs. Zarubkin laughed and made up her mind to remember "Everybody knows that Mrs. Zarubkin's figure is perfect." Then she said:
"You know that the ball is to take place in a week."
"Yes, indeed, Mrs. Zarubkin, in only one week; unfortunately, only one week," replied Abramka, sighing.
"But you remember your promise to make my dress for me for the ball this time?"
"Mrs. Zarubkin," Abramka cried, laying his hand on his heart. "Have I sad that I was not willing to make it?
