on't cause me unnecessary pain."

Yulia Sergeyevna made her appearance, wearing a black dress with a
big diamond brooch, which her father-in-law had sent her after the
service. She was followed by her suite--Kotchevoy, two doctors
of their acquaintance, an officer, and a stout young man in student's
uniform, called Kish.

"You go on with Kostya," Laptev said to his wife. "I'm coming later."

Yulia nodded and went on. Polina Nikolaevna gazed after her, quivering
all over and twitching nervously, and in her eyes there was a look
of repulsion, hatred, and pain.

Laptev was afraid to go home with her, foreseeing an unpleasant
discussion, cutting words, and tears, and he suggested that they
should go and have tea at a restaurant. But she said:

"No, no. I want to go home. Don't dare to talk to me of restaurants."

She did not like being in a restaurant, because the atmosphere of
restaurants seemed to her poisoned by tobacco smoke and the breath
of men. Against all men she did not know she cherished a strange
prejudice, regarding them all as immoral rakes, capable of attacking
her at any moment. Besides, the music played at restaurants jarred
on her nerves and gave her a headache.

Coming out of the Hall of Nobility, they took a sledge in Ostozhenka
and drove to Savelovsky Lane, where she lodged. All the way Laptev
thought about her. It was true that he owed her a great deal. He
had made her acquaintance at the flat of his friend Yartsev, to
whom she was giving lessons in harmony. Her love for him was deep
and perfectly disinterested, and her relations with him did not
alter her habits; she went on giving her lessons and wearing herself
out with work as before. Through her he came to understand and love
music, which he had scarcely cared for till then.

"Half my kingdom for a cup of tea!" she pronounced in a hollow
voice, covering her mouth with her muff that she might not catch
cold. "I've given five lessons, confound them! My pupils are as
stupid as posts; I nearly died of exasperation. I don't know how
long this slavery can go on. I'm worn out. As soon as I can scrape
together three hundred roubles, I shall throw it all up and go to
the Crimea, to lie on the beach and drink in ozone. How I love the
sea--oh, how I love the sea!"

"You'll never go," said Laptev. "To begin with, you'll never save
the money; and, besides, you'd grudge spending it. Forgive me, I
repeat again: surely it's quite as humiliating to colle