d,
whispering in confusion:

"Father, hush! . . . Father, that's enough. . . ."

When the train started, Anna saw her father run a little way after
the train, staggering and spilling his wine, and what a kind, guilty,
pitiful face he had:

"Hurra--ah!" he shouted.

The happy pair were left alone. Modest Alexeitch looked about the
compartment, arranged their things on the shelves, and sat down,
smiling, opposite his young wife. He was an official of medium
height, rather stout and puffy, who looked exceedingly well nourished,
with long whiskers and no moustache. His clean-shaven, round, sharply
defined chin looked like the heel of a foot. The most characteristic
point in his face was the absence of moustache, the bare, freshly
shaven place, which gradually passed into the fat cheeks, quivering
like jelly. His deportment was dignified, his movements were
deliberate, his manner was soft.

"I cannot help remembering now one circumstance," he said, smiling.
"When, five years ago, Kosorotov received the order of St. Anna of
the second grade, and went to thank His Excellency, His Excellency
expressed himself as follows: 'So now you have three Annas: one in
your buttonhole and two on your neck.' And it must be explained
that at that time Kosorotov's wife, a quarrelsome and frivolous
person, had just returned to him, and that her name was Anna. I
trust that when I receive the Anna of the second grade His Excellency
will not have occasion to say the same thing to me."

He smiled with his little eyes. And she, too, smiled, troubled at
the thought that at any moment this man might kiss her with his
thick damp lips, and that she had no right to prevent his doing so.
The soft movements of his fat person frightened her; she felt both
fear and disgust. He got up, without haste took off the order from
his neck, took off his coat and waistcoat, and put on his dressing-gown.

"That's better," he said, sitting down beside Anna.

Anna remembered what agony the wedding had been, when it had seemed
to her that the priest, and the guests, and every one in church had
been looking at her sorrowfully and asking why, why was she, such
a sweet, nice girl, marrying such an elderly, uninteresting gentleman.
Only that morning she was delighted that everything had been
satisfactorily arranged, but at the time of the wedding, and now
in the railway carriage, she felt cheated, guilty, and ridiculous.
Here she had married a rich man and yet she