“Well,” he exclaimed rapturously, “that is a dress, that is—­My, my!” He was so stunned he could find nothing more to say.  And how charming Mrs. Shaldin looked in her wonderful gown!  Her tall slim figure seemed to have been made for it.  What simple yet elegant lines.  At first glance you would think it was nothing more than an ordinary house-gown, but only at first glance.  If you looked at it again, you could tell right away that it met all the requirements of a fancy ball-gown.  What struck Abramka most was that it had no waist line, that it did not consist of bodice and skirt.  That was strange.  It was just caught lightly together under the bosom, which it brought out in relief.  Draped over the whole was a sort of upper garment of exquisite old-rose lace embroidered with large silk flowers, which fell from the shoulders and broadened out in bold superb lines.  The dress was cut low and edged with a narrow strip of black down around the bosom, around the bottom of the lace drapery, and around the hem of the skirt.  A wonderful fan of feathers to match the down edging gave the finishing touch.

“Well, how do you like it, Abramka!” asked Mrs. Shaldin with a triumphant smile.

“Glorious, glorious!  I haven’t the words at my command.  What a dress!  No, I couldn’t make a dress like that.  And how beautifully it fits you, as if you had been born in it, Mrs. Shaldin.  What do you call the style?”

“Empire.”

“Ampeer?” he queried.  “Is that a new style?  Well, well, what people don’t think of.  Tailors like us might just as well throw our needles and scissors away.”

“Now, listen, Abramka, I wouldn’t have shown it to you if there were not this sewing to be done on it.  You are the only one who will have seen it before the ball.  I am not even letting my husband look at it.”

“Oh, Mrs. Shaldin, you can rely upon me as upon a rock.  But after the ball may I copy it?”

“Oh, yes, after the ball copy it as much as you please, but not now, not for anything in the world.”

There were no doubts in Abramka’s mind when he left the doctor’s house.  He had arrived at his decision.  That superb creation had conquered him.  It would be a piece of audacity on his part, he felt, even to think of imitating such a gown.  Why, it was not a gown.  It was a dream, a fantastic vision—­without a bodice, without puffs or frills or tawdry trimmings of any sort.  Simplicity itself and yet so chic.

Back in his shop he opened the package of fashion-plates that had just arrived from Kiev.  He turned the pages and stared in astonishment.  What was that?  Could he trust his eyes?  An Empire gown.  There it was, with the broad voluptuous drapery of lace hanging from the shoulders and the edging of down.  Almost exactly the same thing as Mrs. Shaldin’s.

He glanced up and saw Semyonov outside the window.  He had certainly come to fetch him to the captain’s wife, who must have ordered him to watch the tailor’s movements, and must have learned that he had just been at Mrs. Shaldin’s.  Semyonov entered and told him his mistress wanted to sec him right away.