befriended. A soft heart readily turned in any direction.
Kupfer, as might have been anticipated, found his way into her house, and was soon on an intimate — evil tongues said a too intimate — footing with her. He himself always spoke of her not only affectionately but with respect; he called her a heart of gold — say what you like! and firmly believed both in her love for art and her comprehension of art! One day after dinner at the Aratovs', in discussing the princess and her evenings, he began to persuade Yakov to break for once from his anchorite seclusion, and to allow him, Kupfer, to present him to his friend. Yakov at first would not even hear of it. 'But what do you imagine?' Kupfer cried at last: 'what sort of presentation are we talking about? Simply, I take you, just as you are sitting now, in your everyday coat, and go with you to her for an evening. No sort of etiquette is necessary there, my dear boy! You 're learned, you know, and fond of literature and music' — (there actually was in Aratov's study a piano on which he sometimes struck minor chords) — 'and in her house there 's enough and to spare of all those goods! . . . and you 'll meet there sympathetic people, no nonsense about them! And after all, you really can't at your age, with your looks
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