Things. And suddenly everything—a dress on a wooden hanger, lace shawls, dark-blue silk shoes on shoe trees, and a belt—fell to the floor, and Natasha clasped her now free hands.

" Well, do I look good? " cried Margarita loudly in a husky voice.

" How did it happen? " whispered Natasha, reeling backwards. " How did you do it, Margarita Nikolayevna? "

" It's the cream! The cream, the cream! " replied Margarita, pointing to the gleaming gold jar and doing a turn in front of the mirror.

Forgetting about the crumpled dress on the floor, Natasha ran over to the mirror and stared with voracious burning eyes at what was left of the cream. Her lips whispered something. She turned again to Margarita and said with a kind of reverence, " What skin! What skin! Why, Margarita Nikolayevna, your skin is glowing! " But then she remembered herself, ran over and picked up the dress, and began smoothing it out.

" Put it down! Put it down! " Margarita shouted at her. " The devil with it, throw everything out! Or, rather, keep it as a memento. To remember me by. You can take everything in the room."

Natasha stood for awhile, as if in a daze, staring at Margarita, then she fell on her neck, kissing her and shouting, " Like satin! It glows! Like satí n! And your eyebrows, what eyebrows! "

Take all this stuff, and the perfume, too, and put it in your trunk and hide it, " shouted Margarita. " But don't take the jewelry, or they'll accuse you of stealing."

Natasha put whatever came to hand into a bundle, dresses, shoes, stockings, and underwear, and ran out of the bedroom.

Just then the sounds of a virtuoso waltz came blaring through an open window across the street, and a car was heard spluttering as it pulled up to the gates.

" Azazello will call any minute! " exclaimed Margarita, listening to the waltz streaming in from outside. " Yes, he will! And the foreigner is harmless. Yes, I can see that now, he's harmless! "

The car roared and pulled away from the gates. The gate banged and steps were heard coming down the path.

" That's Nikolai Ivanovich, I can tell by his footsteps, " thought Margarita. " I'll have to do something interesting and amusing as a way of saying good-bye."

Margarita pulled the shade aside and sat sideways on the windowsill, her hands clasped on her knee. The moonlight caressed her right side. Margarita raised her head toward the moon and assumed a pensive and poetic expression. Footsteps were heard once or twice again and then they suddenly stopped. After admiring the moon a little longer, Margarita sighed for the sake of appearances, and turned to look down at the garden where she did, in fact, see Nikolai Ivanovich, who lived on the floor below her. Bathed in bright moonlight, he was sitting on a bench, and it was obvious that he had sat down suddenly. His pince-nez

Azaiello's Cream 199