usted herself to some Italian doctor who
was treating her in some new and unusual way.

They all knew very well that the enchanting countess' illness arose from
an inconvenience resulting from marrying two husbands at the same time,
and that the Italian's cure consisted in removing such inconvenience;
but in Anna Pavlovna's presence no one dared to think of this or even
appear to know it.

"They say the poor countess is very ill. The doctor says it is angina
pectoris."

"Angina? Oh, that's a terrible illness!"

"They say that the rivals are reconciled, thanks to the angina..." and
the word angina was repeated with great satisfaction.

"The count is pathetic, they say. He cried like a child when the doctor
told him the case was dangerous."

"Oh, it would be a terrible loss, she is an enchanting woman."

"You are speaking of the poor countess?" said Anna Pavlovna, coming
up just then. "I sent to ask for news, and hear that she is a little
better. Oh, she is certainly the most charming woman in the world," she
went on, with a smile at her own enthusiasm. "We belong to different
camps, but that does not prevent my esteeming her as she deserves. She
is very unfortunate!" added Anna Pavlovna.

Supposing that by these words Anna Pavlovna was somewhat lifting the
veil from the secret of the countess' malady, an unwary young man
ventured to express surprise that well known doctors had not been called
in and that the countess was being attended by a charlatan who might
employ dangerous remedies.

"Your information maybe better than mine," Anna Pavlovna suddenly and
venomously retorted on the inexperienced young man, "but I know on good
authority that this doctor is a very learned and able man. He is private
physician to the Queen of Spain."

And having thus demolished the young man, Anna Pavlovna turned to
another group where Bilibin was talking about the Austrians: having
wrinkled up his face he was evidently preparing to smooth it out again
and utter one of his mots.

"I think it is delightful," he said, referring to a diplomatic note that
had been sent to Vienna with some Austrian banners captured from the
French by Wittgenstein, "the hero of Petropol" as he was then called in
Petersburg.

"What? What's that?" asked Anna Pavlovna, securing silence for the mot,
which she had heard before.

And Bilibin repeated the actual words of the diplomatic dispatch, which
he had himself composed.

"The Emperor returns th