the Tivoli, to put down the accounts and pay
the wages. And her rosy cheeks, her sweet, naive, radiant smile,
were to be seen now at the office window, now in the refreshment
bar or behind the scenes of the theatre. And already she used to
say to her acquaintances that the theatre was the chief and most
important thing in life and that it was only through the drama that
one could derive true enjoyment and become cultivated and humane.

"But do you suppose the public understands that?" she used to say.
"What they want is a clown. Yesterday we gave 'Faust Inside Out,'
and almost all the boxes were empty; but if Vanitchka and I had
been producing some vulgar thing, I assure you the theatre would
have been packed. Tomorrow Vanitchka and I are doing 'Orpheus in
Hell.' Do come."

And what Kukin said about the theatre and the actors she repeated.
Like him she despised the public for their ignorance and their
indifference to art; she took part in the rehearsals, she corrected
the actors, she kept an eye on the behaviour of the musicians, and
when there was an unfavourable notice in the local paper, she shed
tears, and then went to the editor's office to set things right.

The actors were fond of her and used to call her "Vanitchka and I,"
and "the darling"; she was sorry for them and used to lend them
small sums of money, and if they deceived her, she used to shed a
few tears in private, but did not complain to her husband.

They got on well in the winter too. They took the theatre in the
town for the whole winter, and let it for short terms to a Little
Russian company, or to a conjurer, or to a local dramatic society.
Olenka grew stouter, and was always beaming with satisfaction, while
Kukin grew thinner and yellower, and continually complained of their
terrible losses, although he had not done badly all the winter. He
used to cough at night, and she used to give him hot raspberry tea
or lime-flower water, to rub him with eau-de-Cologne and to wrap
him in her warm shawls.

"You're such a sweet pet!" she used to say with perfect sincerity,
stroking his hair. "You're such a pretty dear!"

Towards Lent he went to Moscow to collect a new troupe, and without
him she could not sleep, but sat all night at her window, looking
at the stars, and she compared herself with the hens, who are awake
all night and uneasy when the cock is not in the hen-house. Kukin
was detained in Moscow, and wrote that he would be back at Easter,
add