The sun stood high in a cloudless blue sky when the carriage drove up to the ruins of Tsaritsino Castle, which looked gloomy and menacing, even at midday. The whole party stepped out on to the grass, and at once made a move towards the garden. In front went Elena and Zoya with Insarov; Anna Vassilyevna, with an expression of perfect happiness on her face, walked behind them, leaning on the arm of Uvar Ivanovitch. He waddled along panting, his new straw hat cut his forehead, and his feet twinged in his boots, but he was content; Shubin and Bersenyev brought up the rear. “We will form the reserve, my dear boy, like veterans,” whispered Shubin to Bersenyev. “Bulgaria’s in it now!” he added, indicating Elena with his eyebrows.
The weather was glorious. Everything around was flowering, humming, singing; in the distance shone the waters of the lakes; a lighthearted holiday mood took possession of all. “Oh, how beautiful; oh, how beautiful!” Anna Vassilyevna repeated incessantly; Uvar Ivanovitch kept nodding his head approvingly in response to her enthusiastic exclamations, and once even articulated: “To be sure! to be sure!” From time to time Elena exchanged a few words with Insarov; Zoya held the brim of her large hat with two fingers while her little feet, shod in light grey shoes with rounded toes, peeped coquettishly out from under her pink barège dress; she kept looking to each side and then behind her. “Hey!” cried Shubin suddenly in a low voice, “Zoya Nikitishna is on the lookout, it seems. I will go to her. Elena Nikolaevna despises me now, while you, Andrei Petrovitch, she esteems, which comes to the same thing. I am going; I’m tired of being glum. I should advise you, my dear fellow, to do some botanising; that’s the best thing you could hit on in your position; it might be useful, too, from a scientific point of view. Farewell!” Shubin ran up to Zoya, offered her his arm, and saying: “Ihre Hand, Madame,” caught hold of her hand, and pushed on ahead with her. Elena stopped, called to Bersenyev, and also took his arm, but continued talking to Insarov. She asked him the words for lily-of-the-valley, clover, oak, lime, and so on in his language … “Bulgaria’s in it!” thought poor Andrei Petrovitch.
Suddenly a shriek was heard in front; everyone looked up. Shubin’s cigar-case fell into a bush, flung by Zoya’s hand. “Wait a minute, I’ll pay you out!” he shouted, as he crept into the bushes; he found his cigar-case, and was returning to Zoya; but he had hardly reached her side when again his cigar-case was sent flying across the road. Five times this trick was repeated, he kept laughing and threatening her, but Zoya only smiled slyly and drew herself together, like a little cat. At last he snatched her fingers, and squeezed them so tightly that she shrieked, and for a long time afterwards breathed on her hand, pretending to be angry, while he murmured something in her ears.
“Mischievous things, young people,” Anna Vassilyevna observed gaily to Uvar Ivanovitch.
He flourished his fingers in reply.
“What a girl Zoya Nikitishna is!” said Bersenyev to Elena.
“And Shubin? What of him?” she answered.
Meanwhile the whole party went into the arbour, well known as Pleasant View arbour, and stopped to admire the view of the Tsaritsino lakes. They stretched one behind the other for several miles, overshadowed by thick woods. The bright green grass, which covered the hill sloping down to the largest lake, gave the water itself an extraordinarily vivid emerald colour. Even at the water’s edge not a ripple stirred the smooth surface. One might fancy it a solid mass of glass lying heavy and shining in a huge font; the sky seemed to drop into its depths, while the leafy trees gazed motionless into its transparent bosom. All were absorbed in long and silent admiration of the view; even Shubin was still; even Zoya was impressed. At last, all with one mind, began to wish to go upon the water. Shubin, Insarov, and Bersenyev raced each other over the grass. They succeeded in finding a large painted boat and two boatmen, and beckoned to the ladies. The ladies stepped into the boat; Uvar Ivanovitch cautiously lowered himself into it after them. Great was the mirth while he got in and took his seat. “Look out, master, don’t drown us,” observed one of the boatmen, a snubnosed young fellow in a gay print shirt. “Get along, you swell!” said Uvar Ivanovitch. The boat pushed off. The young men took up the oars, but Insarov was the oniy one of them who could row. Shubin suggested that they should sing some Russian song in chorus, and struck up: “Down the river Volga” … Bersenyev, Zoya, and even Anna Vassilyevna, joined in—Insarov could not sing—but they did not keep together; at the third verse the singers were all wrong. Only Bersenyev tried to go on in the bass, “Nothing on the waves is seen,” but he, too, was soon in difficulties. The boatmen looked at one another and grinned in silence.
“Eh?” said Shubin, turning to them, “the gentlefolks can’t sing, you say?” The boy in the print shirt only shook his head. “Wait a little snubnose,” retorted Shubin, “we will show you. Zoya Nikitishna, sing us ‘Le lac’ of Niedermeyer. Stop rowing!” The wet oars stood still, lifted in
