fter all I was not really
responsible. Why did she take it into her head to die at that moment?
But the more I thought of it, the more I felt the weight of it upon my
mind; and I never got quite rid of the impression until I put a couple
of old women into an almshouse and kept them there at my own expense.
There, that's all. I repeat I dare say I have committed many a grievous
sin in my day; but I cannot help always looking back upon this as the
worst action I have ever perpetrated."

"H'm! and instead of a bad action, your excellency has detailed one of
your noblest deeds," said Ferdishenko. "Ferdishenko is 'done.'"

"Dear me, general," said Nastasia Philipovna, absently, "I really never
imagined you had such a good heart."

The general laughed with great satisfaction, and applied himself once
more to the champagne.

It was now Totski's turn, and his story was awaited with great
curiosity--while all eyes turned on Nastasia Philipovna, as though
anticipating that his revelation must be connected somehow with her.
Nastasia, during the whole of his story, pulled at the lace trimming of
her sleeve, and never once glanced at the speaker. Totski was a handsome
man, rather stout, with a very polite and dignified manner. He was
always well dressed, and his linen was exquisite. He had plump white
hands, and wore a magnificent diamond ring on one finger.

"What simplifies the duty before me considerably, in my opinion," he
began, "is that I am bound to recall and relate the very worst action of
my life. In such circumstances there can, of course, be no doubt. One's
conscience very soon informs one what is the proper narrative to tell. I
admit, that among the many silly and thoughtless actions of my life, the
memory of one comes prominently forward and reminds me that it lay long
like a stone on my heart. Some twenty years since, I paid a visit to
Platon Ordintzeff at his country-house. He had just been elected marshal
of the nobility, and had come there with his young wife for the winter
holidays. Anfisa Alexeyevna's birthday came off just then, too, and
there were two balls arranged. At that time Dumas-fils' beautiful work,
La Dame aux Camelias--a novel which I consider imperishable--had just
come into fashion. In the provinces all the ladies were in raptures over
it, those who had read it, at least. Camellias were all the fashion.
Everyone inquired for them, everybody wanted them; and a grand lot of
camellias are to be go