Stepan Trofimovitch sat down on the sofa and began to cry.
_"Dieu, Dieu."_ he exclaimed, _"enfin une minute de bonheur!"_ Not more than ten minutes afterwards she reappeared according to her promise, escorted by her Mavriky Nikolaevitch.
_"Vous et le bonheur, vous arrivez en meme temps!"_ He got up to meet her.
"Here's a nosegay for you; I rode just now to Madame Chevalier's, she has flowers all the winter for name-days.

Here's Mavriky Nikolaevitch, please make friends.

I wanted to bring you a cake instead of a nosegay, but Mavriky Nikolaevitch declares that is not in the Russian spirit." Mavriky Nikolaevitch was an artillery captain, a tall and handsome man of thirty-three, irreproachably correct in appearance, with an imposing and at first sight almost stern countenance, in spite of his wonderful and delicate kindness which no one could fail to perceive almost the first moment of making his acquaintance.

He was taciturn, however, seemed very self-possessed and made no efforts to gain friends.

Many of us said later that he was by no means clever; but this was not altogether just.
I won't attempt to describe the beauty of Lizaveta Nikolaevna.