enemies; that suddenly all would understand her, and beg for forgiveness, but it would be too late. . . .
After supper she fell upon her knees in the ikon-corner and read two chapters of the Gospel. Her maid got ready her room, and she went to bed. The princess stretched herself under the white counterpane, sighed sweetly and deeply, as people sigh after tears, then closed her eyes and went to sleep.
She awoke next morning, and looked at her watch: it was half-past eight. Across the carpet fell a narrow, bright belt of light, which came from the window but barely lighted the room. Behind the black curtains buzzed flies.
“It is early,” she said to herself, and closed her eyes.
She stretched herself, surrendered herself to the feeling of comfort and cosiness; and recalled last night's meeting with the doctor and the thoughts which had lulled her to sleep; and she remembered that she was unhappy. Her husband in St. Petersburg, her stewards, doctors, neighbours, official friends, all returned to her. A long line of faces swept through her imagination. She smiled softly, and thought that if all these men could read her heart and understand her, she would have them at her feet.
A quarter of an hour before midday she called her maid.
“Come, dress me, Dasha!” she said lazily. “No . . .
