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.

mrs. zarubkin had bought her gown ready made at kiev, and had returned only two hours before the beginning of the ball. she had scarcely had time to dress. perhaps it would have been better had she not appeared at this one of the annual balls, had she not taken that fateful trip to kiev. for in comparison with the make and style of mrs. shaldin’s dress, which had been brought abroad, hers was like the botched imitation of an amateur.

that was evident to everybody, though the captain’s wife had her little group of partisans, who maintained with exaggerated eagerness that she looked extraordinarily fascinating in her dress and mrs. shaldin still could not rival her. but there was no mistaking it, there was little justice in this contention. everybody knew better; what was worst of all, mrs. zarubkin herself knew better. mrs. shaldin’s triumph was complete.

the two ladies gave each other the same friendly smiles as always, but one of them was experiencing the fine disdain and the derision of the conqueror, while the other was burning inside with the furious resentment of a dethroned goddess—goddess of the annual ball.

from that time on abramka cautiously avoided passing the captain’s house.