Her hair was done up in the same little close knot at the back of her head; her long thin neck was exposed in the same way.

The black shawl Varvara Petrovna had given her lay carefully folded on the sofa.

She was coarsely rouged and powdered as before.

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch did not stand there more than a minute.
She suddenly waked up, as though she were conscious of his eyes fixed upon her; she opened her eyes, and quickly drew herself up.
But something strange must have happened to her visitor: he remained standing at the same place by the door.

With a fixed and searching glance he looked mutely and persistently into her face.