tempt
to see in him something different from what he really is. His
craziness is looked upon as originality, his familiar manners as
good-nature, and his complete absence of opinions as Conservatism.
Even granted that he is a Conservative of the stamp of '84, what
after all is Conservatism?"

Pyotr Dmitritch, angry with Count Alexey Petrovitch, his visitors,
and himself, was relieving his heart. He abused both the Count and
his visitors, and in his vexation with himself was ready to speak
out and to hold forth upon anything. After seeing his guest to his
room, he walked up and down the drawing-room, walked through the
dining-room, down the corridor, then into his study, then again
went into the drawing-room, and came into the bedroom. Olga Mihalovna
was lying on her back, with the bed-clothes only to her waist (by
now she felt hot), and with an angry face, watched the fly that was
thumping against the ceiling.

"Is some one staying the night?" she asked.

"Yegorov."

Pyotr Dmitritch undressed and got into his bed.

Without speaking, he lighted a cigarette, and he, too, fell to
watching the fly. There was an uneasy and forbidding look in his
eyes. Olga Mihalovna looked at his handsome profile for five minutes
in silence. It seemed to her for some reason that if her husband
were suddenly to turn facing her, and to say, "Olga, I am unhappy,"
she would cry or laugh, and she would be at ease. She fancied that
her legs were aching and her body was uncomfortable all over because
of the strain on her feelings.

"Pyotr, what are you thinking of?" she said.

"Oh, nothing . . ." her husband answered.

"You have taken to having secrets from me of late: that's not right."

"Why is it not right?" answered Pyotr Dmitritch drily and not at
once. "We all have our personal life, every one of us, and we are
bound to have our secrets."

"Personal life, our secrets . . . that's all words! Understand you
are wounding me!" said Olga Mihalovna, sitting up in bed. "If you
have a load on your heart, why do you hide it from me? And why do
you find it more suitable to open your heart to women who are nothing
to you, instead of to your wife? I overheard your outpourings to
Lubotchka by the bee-house to-day."

"Well, I congratulate you. I am glad you did overhear it."

This meant "Leave me alone and let me think." Olga Mihalovna was
indignant. Vexation, hatred, and wrath, which had been accumulating
within her during the whole day,