t dispirited and weak all over. That she should have
made a nun get into a sledge and drive in a company hardly sober
seemed to her now stupid, tactless, and almost sacrilegious. As the
intoxication passed off, the desire to deceive herself passed away
also. It was clear to her now that she did not love her husband,
and never could love him, and that it all had been foolishness and
nonsense. She had married him from interested motives, because, in
the words of her school friends, he was madly rich, and because she
was afraid of becoming an old maid like Rita, and because she was
sick of her father, the doctor, and wanted to annoy Volodya.

If she could have imagined when she got married, that it would be
so oppressive, so dreadful, and so hideous, she would not have
consented to the marriage for all the wealth in the world. But now
there was no setting it right. She must make up her mind to it.

They reached home. Getting into her warm, soft bed, and pulling the
bed-clothes over her, Sofya Lvovna recalled the dark church, the
smell of incense, and the figures by the columns, and she felt
frightened at the thought that these figures would be standing there
all the while she was asleep. The early service would be very, very
long; then there would be "the hours," then the mass, then the
service of the day.

"But of course there is a God--there certainly is a God; and I
shall have to die, so that sooner or later one must think of one's
soul, of eternal life, like Olga. Olga is saved now; she has settled
all questions for herself. . . . But if there is no God? Then her
life is wasted. But how is it wasted? Why is it wasted?"

And a minute later the thought came into her mind again:

"There is a God; death must come; one must think of one's soul. If
Olga were to see death before her this minute she would not be
afraid. She is prepared. And the great thing is that she has already
solved the problem of life for herself. There is a God . . . yes
. . . . But is there no other solution except going into a monastery?
To go into the monastery means to renounce life, to spoil it . . . ."

Sofya Lvovna began to feel rather frightened; she hid her head under
her pillow.

"I mustn't think about it," she whispered. "I mustn't. . . ."

Yagitch was walking about on the carpet in the next room with a
soft jingle of spurs, thinking about something. The thought occurred
to Sofya Lvovna that this man was near and dear to her only for