This transparent curtain did not hide the inside of the drawing-room from Foma's eyes.

Seated on a couch in her favourite corner, Medinskaya played the mandolin.

A large Japanese umbrella, fastened up to the wall, shaded the little woman in black by its mixture of colours; the high bronze lamp under a red lamp-shade cast on her the light of sunset.

The mild sounds of the slender strings were trembling sadly in the narrow room, which was filled with soft and fragrant twilight.

Now the woman lowered the mandolin on her knees and began running her fingers over the strings, also to examine fixedly something before her.