On returning to his place, Tomsky tought no more either of Hermann or Lizaveta. She longed to renew the interrupted conversation. But the mazurka came to an end, and shortly afterwards the old Countess took her departure. Tomsky's words were nothing more than the customary small talk of the dance. But they sank deep into the soul of the young dremear.
The portrait, sketched by Tomsky, coincided with the picture she had formed within her own mind, and, thanks to the latest romances, the ordinary countenance of her admirer became invested with attributes capable of alarming her and fascinating her and fascinating her imagination at the same time. She was nuw sitting with her bare arms crossed, and with her head, still adorned with flowers, sunk upon her uncovered basom.
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