Testament lying upon it. The rustle of the
countess's silk skirt drew his attention off.

"Well now, we can sit quietly," said Countess Lidia Ivanovna,
slipping hurriedly with an agitated smile between the table and
the sofa, "and talk over our tea."

After some words of preparation, Countess Lidia Ivanovna,
breathing hard and flushing crimson, gave into Alexey
Alexandrovitch's hands the letter she had received.

After reading the letter, he sat a long while in silence.

"I don't think I have the right to refuse her," he said,
timidly lifting his eyes.

"Dear friend, you never see evil in anyone!"

"On the contrary, I see that all is evil. But whether it is
just..."

His face showed irresolution, and a seeking for counsel, support,
and guidance in a matter he did not understand.

"No," Countess Lidia Ivanovna interrupted him; "there are limits
to everything. I can understand immorality," she said, not
quite truthfully, since she never could understand that which
leads women to immorality; "but I don't understand cruelty: to
whom? to you! How can she stay in the town where you are? No,
the longer one lives the more one learns. And I'm learning to
understand your loftiness and her baseness."

"Who is to throw a stone?" said Alexey Alexandrovitch,
unmistakably pleased with the part he had to play. "I have
forgiven all, and so I cannot deprive her of what is exacted by
love in her--by her love for her son...."

"But is that love, my friend? Is it sincere? Admitting that you
have forgiven--that you forgive--have we the right to work on the
feelings of that angel? He looks on her as dead. He prays for
her, and beseeches God to have mercy on her sins. And it is
better so. But now what will he think?"

"I had not thought of that," said Alexey Alexandrovitch,
evidently agreeing.

Countess Lidia Ivanovna hid her face in her hands and was silent.
she was praying.

"If you ask my advice," she said, having finished her prayer and
uncovered her face, "I do not advise you to do this. Do you
suppose I don't see how you are suffering, how this has torn open
your wounds? But supposing that, as always, you don't think of
yourself, what can it lead to?--to fresh suffering for you, to
torture for the child. If there were a trace of humanity left in
her, she ought not to wish for it herself. No, I have no
hesitation in saying I advise not, and if you will intrust it to
me, I will write to her."

And Ale