There is something bizarre about Lisa. Something that makes you wonder how people, the most diverse, manage to get married after all. It's not that she is ugly, or that her empty eyes lost in the distance where no one can follow, show any trace of minor intelligence. No. It's simply a twist in her expression, somewhere around her nose or the corners of her mouth; something quite unnoticeable, making her apparent beauty a mock. As though she were uneasy or disgusted at all those around her, which is peculiar, for there is no other in this world as mild-tempered as she is. Nothing seems to have any impact on her mood or behavior, not even harsh words or inconveniences. She takes everything with half a smile and then casts it away, say it were unimportant, unworthy of upsetting her state. How a man such as Prince Dorogulkin might have chosen her as his life-long companion is an unraveled mystery. He fits more with strong-willed, temperamental ladies. He is decisive himself, scientific, down to earth, straightforward, disinclined to superficiality. Lisa cannot seem to keep up with him. She speaks little, even when surrounded by safe company she has a hard time speaking her mind. Today, she is entertaining guests, "open Thursday" as she calls it, in her house at 23 Tverskaya Street. Why do they keep coming when she's such a poor host? She lets others take the lead, only participates when directly addressed; as for instance, when her French tutor asks her a seemingly naive question for fear she gets bored. She then turns her head, gazes at hi and does not manage to put a whole sentence together. She fails to make sense, even in her own language.