Page:The Novels of Ivan Turgenev (volume XI).djvu/322

Rh its head, snorted and pranced from side to side, his rider was at once holding him in and spurring him on. I stood aside. My father gathered up the reins, moved away from Zinaïda, she slowly raised her eyes to him, and both galloped off. Byelovzorov flew after them, his sabre clattering behind him. 'He's as red as a crab,' I reflected, 'while she why's she so pale? out riding the whole morning, and pale?'

I redoubled my pace, and got home just at dinner-time. My father was already sitting by my mother's chair, dressed for dinner, washed and fresh; he was reading an article from the Journal des Débats in his smooth musical voice; but my mother heard him without attention, and when she saw me, asked where I had been to all day long, and added that she didn't like this gadding about God knows where, and God knows in what company. 'But I have been walking alone,' I was on the point of replying, but I looked at my father, and for some reason or other held my peace.

the next five or six days I hardly saw Zinaïda; she said she was ill, which did not, however, prevent the usual visitors from calling