"Good afternoon, Marya Dmitrievna!"--exclaimed the horseman, in a
ringing, agreeable voice.--"How do you like my new purchase?"
Marya Dmitrievna went to the window.
"Good afternoon, _Woldemar_! Akh, what a magnificent horse! From whom did
you buy it?"
"From the remount officer.... He asked a high price, the robber!"
"What is its name?"
"Orlando.... But that's a stupid name; I want to change it.... _Eh bien,
eh bien, mon garcon_.... What a turbulent beast!" The horse snorted,
shifted from foot to foot, and tossed his foaming muzzle.
"Pat him, Lenotchka, have no fears...."
The little girl stretched her hand out of the window, but Orlando
suddenly reared up, and leaped aside. The rider did not lose control,
gripped the horse with his knees, gave him a lash on the neck with his
whip, and, despite his opposition, placed him once more in front of the
window.
"_Prenez garde! prenez garde!_"--Marya Dmitrievna kept repeating.
"Pat him, Lyenotchka,"--returned the rider,--"I will not permit him to
be wilful."
Again the little girl stretched forth her hand, and timidly touched the
quivering nostrils of Orlando, who trembled incessantly and strained at
the bit.
"Bravo!"--exclaimed Marya Dmitrievna,--"and now, dismount, and come
in."
The horseman turned his steed round adroitly, gave him the spurs, and
after dashing along the street at a brisk gallop, rode into the yard. A
minute later, he ran in through the door of the anteroom into the
drawing-room, flourishing his whip; at the same moment, on the threshold
of another door, a tall, graceful, black-haired girl of nineteen--Marya
Dmitrievna's eldest daughter, Liza--made her appearance.