rink
Malaga. It's not a strong wine; you need not be afraid of it. What
fine fellows they are, really! They'll be thinking of getting married
next."

Olga Mihalovna talked without ceasing; she knew by experience that
when she had guests to entertain it was far easier and more comfortable
to talk than to listen. When you talk there is no need to strain
your attention to think of answers to questions, and to change your
expression of face. But unawares she asked the student a serious
question; the student began a lengthy speech and she was forced to
listen. The student knew that she had once been at the University,
and so tried to seem a serious person as he talked to her.

"What subject are you studying?" she asked, forgetting that she had
already put that question to him.

"Medicine."

Olga Mihalovna now remembered that she had been away from the ladies
for a long while.

"Yes? Then I suppose you are going to be a doctor?" she said, getting
up. "That's splendid. I am sorry I did not go in for medicine myself.
So you will finish your dinner here, gentlemen, and then come into
the garden. I will introduce you to the young ladies."

She went out and glanced at her watch: it was five minutes to six.
And she wondered that the time had gone so slowly, and thought with
horror that there were six more hours before midnight, when the
party would break up. How could she get through those six hours?
What phrases could she utter? How should she behave to her husband?

There was not a soul in the drawing-room or on the verandah. All
the guests were sauntering about the garden.

"I shall have to suggest a walk in the birchwood before tea, or
else a row in the boats," thought Olga Mihalovna, hurrying to the
croquet ground, from which came the sounds of voices and laughter.

"And sit the old people down to _vint_. . . ." She met Grigory the
footman coming from the croquet ground with empty bottles.

"Where are the ladies?" she asked.

"Among the raspberry-bushes. The master's there, too."

"Oh, good heavens!" some one on the croquet lawn shouted with
exasperation. "I have told you a thousand times over! To know the
Bulgarians you must see them! You can't judge from the papers!"

Either because of the outburst or for some other reason, Olga
Mihalovna was suddenly aware of a terrible weakness all over,
especially in her legs and in her shoulders. She felt she could not
bear to speak, to listen, or to move.

"Grigory,"