In the dining room he rang the bell, and told the servant who

came in to send again for the doctor. He felt vexed with his

wife for not being anxious about this exquisite baby, and in this

vexed humor he had no wish to go to her; he had no wish, either,

to see Princess Betsy. But his wife might wonder why he did not

go to her as usual; and so, overcoming his disinclination, he

went towards the bedroom. As he walked over the soft rug towards

the door, he could not help overhearing a conversation he did not

want to hear.

"If he hadn't been going away, I could have understood your

answer and his too. But your husband ought to be above that,"

Betsy was saying.

"It's not for my husband; for myself I don't wish it. Don't say

that!" answered Anna's excited voice.

"Yes, but you must care to say good-bye to a man who has shot

himself on your account...."

"That's just why I don't want to."

With a dismayed and guilty expression, Alexey Alexandrovitch

stopped and would have gone back unobserved. But reflecting that

this would be undignified, he turned back again, and clearing his

throat, he went up to the bedroom. The voices were silent, and

he went in.

Anna, in a gray dressing gown, with a crop of short clustering

black curls on her round head, was sitting on a settee. The

eagerness died out of her face, as it always did, at the sight of

her husband; she dropped her head and looked round uneasily at

Betsy. Betsy, dressed in the height of the latest fashion, in a

hat that towered somewhere over her head like a shade on a lamp,

in a blue dress with violet crossway stripes slanting one way on

the bodice and the other way on the skirt, was sitting beside

Anna, her tall flat figure held erect. Bowing her head, she

greeted Alexey Alexandrovitch with an ironical smile.

"Ah!" she said, as though surprised. "I'm very glad you're at

home. You never put in an appearance anywhere, and I haven't

seen you ever since Anna has been ill. I have heard all about

it--your anxiety. Yes, you're a wonderful husband!" she said,

with a meaning and affable air, as though she were bestowing an

order of magnanimity on him for his conduct to his wife.

Alexey Alexandrovitch bowed frigidly, and kissing his wife's

hand, asked how she was.

"Better, I think," she said, avoiding his eyes.

"But you've rather a feverish-looking color," he said, laying

stress on the word "feverish."




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