zev, who would make a wife happy and whom only a mad-woman
could refuse! Yes, only a mad-woman!"

"What can I do, ma tante? It seems that I am mad!"

"Have you anything serious against him?"

"Nothing whatever. I simply despise him." Valentina Mihailovna shook her
head impatiently and dropped into her chair again.

"Let us leave him. Retournons a nos moutons. And so you love Mr.
Nejdanov?"

"Yes."

"And do you intend to continue your interviews with him?"

"Yes."

"But supposing I forbid it?"

"I won't listen to you."

Valentina Mihailovna sprang up from her chair. "What! You won't listen
to me! I see... And that is said to me by a girl who has known nothing
but kindness from me, whom I have brought up in my own house, that is
said to me... said to me--"

"By the daughter of a disgraced father," Mariana put in, sternly. "Go
on, don't be on ceremonies!"

"Ce n'est pas moi qui vous le fait dire, mademoiselle! In any case, that
is nothing to be proud of! A girl who lives at my expense--"

"Don't throw that in my face, Valentina Mihailovna! It would cost you
more to keep a French governess for Kolia... It is I who give him French
lessons!"

Valentina Mihailovna raised a hand holding a scented cambric
pocket-handkerchief with a large white monogram embroidered in one
corner and tried to say something, but Mariana continued passionately:

"You would have been right, a thousand times right, if, instead of
counting up all your petty benefits and sacrifices, you could have been
in a position to say 'the girl I loved'... but you are too honest to lie
about that!" Mariana trembled feverishly. "You have always hated me. And
even now you are glad in the bottom of your heart--that same heart
you have just mentioned--glad that I am justifying your constant
predictions, covering myself with shame and scandal--you are only
annoyed because part of this shame is bound to fall on your virtuous,
aristocratic house!

"You are insulting me," Valentina Mihailovna whispered. "Be kind enough
to leave the room!"

But Mariana could no longer contain herself. "Your household, you said,
all your household, Anna Zaharovna and everybody knows of my behaviour!
And every one is horrified and indignant... But am I asking anything of
you, of all these people? Do you think I care for their good opinion?
Do you think that eating your bread has been sweet? I would prefer the
greatest poverty to this luxury. There is a gulf between me a