"Because--because--I can't."
"Oh--h--h, you can't? You know why you can't. Because that is the
style of Mrs. Shaldin's dress. So that is the reliability you boast so
about? Great!"
"Mrs. Zarubkin, I will make any other dress you choose, but it is
absolutely impossible for me to make this one."
"I don't need your fashion plates, do you hear me? Get out of here,
and don't ever show your face again."
"Mrs. Zarubkin, I--"
"Get out of here," repeated the captain's wife, quite beside herself.
The poor tailor stuck his yard measure, which he had already taken
out, back into his pocket and left.
Half an hour later the captain's wife was entering a train for Kiev,
carrying a large package which contained material for a dress. The
captain had accompanied her to the station with a pucker in his
forehead. That was five days before the ball.
* * * * *
At the ball two expensive Empire gowns stood out conspicuously from
among the more or less elegant gowns which had been finished in the
shop of Abramka Stiftik, Ladies' Tailor. The one gown adorned Mrs.
Shaldin's figure, the other the figure of the captain's wife.
Pages:
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341