quickly turning and overtaking her, he looked up under her hat at her face.
'Mashurina?' he said in a low voice.
The lady scanned him majestically, and without uttering a word walked on.
'Dear Mashurina, I recognise you,' Paklin went on, hobbling along beside her, 'only don't you, please, be afraid. I wouldn't betray you, I am too delighted to have met you! I'm Paklin, Sila Paklin, you know, Nezhdanov's friend.. . . Come and see me; I live only a step or two away. Please do!'
'Io sono contessa Rocca di Santo Fiume!' the lady answered in a low voice, but in a wonderfully pure Russian accent.
'Come, nonsense! . . . a fine contessa! . . . Come and see me. Let us have a chat.. . .'
'But where do you live?' the Italian countess asked suddenly in Russian. 'I've no time to lose.'
'I live here, in this street—that's my house, the grey one there, with three stories. How kind it is of you not to persist in trying to mystify me! Give me your hand, come along. Have you been here long? And how are you a countess? Have you married some Italian count?'
Mashurina had not married an Italian count. She had been provided with a passport made
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