It was a wonderful morning; the tidy, cheerful houses with their little gardens, the sight of the red-faced, red-armed, beer-filled, cheerfully working German maids and the bright sun gladdened the heart; but the closer they came to the springs, the more often they met sick people, and their appearance seemed all the more doleful amidst the ordinary conditions of comfortable German life. Kitty was no longer struck by this contrast. The bright sun, the cheerful glittering of the greenery, the sounds of music, were for her the natural frame for all these familiar faces and the changes for worse or better that she followed; but for the prince the light and glitter of the June morning, the sounds of the orchestra playing a popular, cheerful waltz, and especially the sight of the stalwart serving-women, seemed something indecent and monstrous in combination with these glumly moving dead people gathered from every corner of Europe.
Despite the feeling of pride and the return of youth that he experienced when his beloved daughter walked arm in arm with him, he now felt awkward and ashamed, as it were, for his strong stride, for his big, fat-enveloped limbs. He almost had the feeling of a man undressed in public.
‘Introduce me, introduce me to your new friends,’ he said to his daughter, pressing her arm with his elbow. ‘I’ve even come to like this vile Soden of yours for having straightened you out so well. Only it’s a sad, sad place. Who’s this?’
Kitty named for him the acquaintances and non-acquaintances they met. Just at the entrance to the garden they met the blind Mme Berthe with her guide, and the prince rejoiced at the old Frenchwoman’s tender expression when she heard Kitty’s voice. She at once began talking to him with a French excess of amiability, praising him for having such a wonderful daughter, and praising Kitty to the skies, calling her a treasure, a pearl and a ministering angel.
‘Well, then she’s the second angel,’ the prince said, smiling. ‘She calls Mile Varenka angel number one.’
‘Oh! Mile Varenka — there is a real angel,
In the gallery they met Varenka herself. She walked hurriedly towards them, carrying an elegant red handbag.
‘See, papa has arrived!’ Kitty said to her.
As simply and naturally as she did everything, Varenka made a movement between a bow and a curtsy, and at once began talking with the prince as she talked with everyone, simply and without constraint.
‘Certainly, I know you, know you very well,’ the prince said with a smile, from which Kitty joyfully learned that her father liked her friend. ‘Where are you off to in such a hurry?’
‘So that’s angel number one!’ said the prince, when Varenka had gone.
Kitty saw that he wanted to make fun of Varenka, but that he simply could not do it, because he liked her.
‘Well, now we’ll be seeing all your friends,’ he added, ‘including Mme Stahl, if she deigns to recognize me.’
‘Did you know her before, papa?’ Kitty asked in fear, noticing a flicker of mockery lighting up in the prince’s eyes at the mention of Mme Stahl.
‘I knew her husband, and her a little, back before she signed up with the Pietists.34
‘What is a Pietist, papa?’ asked Kitty, already frightened by the fact that what she valued so highly in Mme Stahl had a name.
‘I don’t quite know myself. I only know that she thanks God for everything, for every misfortune - and for the fact that her husband died, she also thanks God. Well, and that’s rather funny, because they had a bad life together. Who is that? What a pitiful face!’ he said, noticing a sick man, not very tall, sitting on a bench in a brown coat and white trousers that fell into strange folds on the fleshless bones of his legs.
This gentleman raised his straw hat over his scant, wavy hair, revealing a high forehead with an unhealthy red mark from the hat.
‘That’s the painter Petrov,’ Kitty replied, blushing. ‘And that’s his wife,’ she added, pointing to Anna Pavlovna, who, as if on purpose, went after a child who had run down the path just as they were approaching. ‘How pitiful, and what a nice face he has!’ said the prince. ‘Why didn’t you go over? He wanted to say something to you.’
‘Well, let’s go then,’ Kitty said, turning resolutely. ‘How are you today?’ she asked Petrov.
Petrov stood up, leaning on his stick, and looked timidly at the prince.
‘This is my daughter,’ said the prince. ‘Allow me to introduce myself.’
The painter bowed and smiled, revealing his strangely gleaming white teeth.
‘We were expecting you yesterday, Princess,’ he said to Kitty.
He staggered as he said it, then repeated the movement, trying to make it appear that he had done it on purpose.
‘I wanted to come, but Varenka told me Anna Pavlovna sent word that you weren’t going.’
