when she passed Zinaida Fyodorovna's door, she
hummed something and coughed. She was pleased that her mistress was
hiding from her. In the evening she would go out somewhere, and
rang at two or three o'clock in the morning, and I had to open the
door to her and listen to remarks about my cough. Immediately
afterwards I would hear another ring; I would run to the room next
to the study, and Zinaida Fyodorovna, putting her head out of the
door, would ask, "Who was it rung?" while she looked at my hands
to see whether I had a telegram.

When at last on Saturday the bell rang below and she heard the
familiar voice on the stairs, she was so delighted that she broke
into sobs. She rushed to meet him, embraced him, kissed him on the
breast and sleeves, said something one could not understand. The
hall porter brought up the portmanteaus; Polya's cheerful voice was
heard. It was as though some one had come home for the holidays.

"Why didn't you wire?" asked Zinaida Fyodorovna, breathless with
joy. "Why was it? I have been in misery; I don't know how I've lived
through it. . . . Oh, my God!"

"It was very simple! I returned with the senator to Moscow the very
first day, and didn't get your telegrams," said Orlov. "After dinner,
my love, I'll give you a full account of my doings, but now I must
sleep and sleep. . . . I am worn out with the journey."

It was evident that he had not slept all night; he had probably
been playing cards and drinking freely. Zinaida Fyodorovna put him
to bed, and we all walked about on tiptoe all that day. The dinner
went off quite satisfactorily, but when they went into the study
and had coffee the explanation began. Zinaida Fyodorovna began
talking of something rapidly in a low voice; she spoke in French,
and her words flowed like a stream. Then I heard a loud sigh from
Orlov, and his voice.

"My God!" he said in French. "Have you really nothing fresher to
tell me than this everlasting tale of your servant's misdeeds?"

"But, my dear, she robbed me and said insulting things to me."

"But why is it she doesn't rob me or say insulting things to me?
Why is it I never notice the maids nor the porters nor the footmen?
My dear, you are simply capricious and refuse to know your own mind
. . . . I really begin to suspect that you must be in a certain
condition. When I offered to let her go, you insisted on her
remaining, and now you want me to turn her away. I can be obstinate,
too, in such cases.