It
touched him to a vague sense of pity for his sister. Yourii put his arm
round Lialia's waist and went with her into the dining-room where in
the lamp-light shone the large, highly polished samovar. At the table,
by the side of Nicolai Yegorovitch sat a well-built young man, not
Russian in type, with bronzed features and keen bright eyes.
He rose in simple, friendly fashion to meet Yourii.
"Introduce me."
"Anatole Pavlovitch Riasantzeff!" cried Lialia, with a gesture of comic
solemnity.
"Who craves your friendship and indulgence," added Riasantzeff, joking
in his turn.
With a sincere wish to become friends, the two shook hands. For a
moment it seemed as if they would embrace, but they refrained, merely
exchanging frank, amicable glances.
"So this is her brother, is it?" thought Riasantzeff, in surprise, for
he had imagined that a brother of Lialia, short, fair, and merry, would
be short, fair and merry too. Yourii, on the contrary was tall, thin
and dark, though as good-looking as Lialia, and with the same regular
features.
And, as Yourii looked at Riasantzeff, he thought to himself: "So this
is the man who in my little sister Lialia, as fresh and fair as a
spring morning, loves the woman; loves her just as I myself have loved
women.
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