iture　arranged　picturesque　corners　with　Japanese　parasols；　easels；　daggers；　busts；　photographs；　and　rags　of　many　colours。　。　。　。　In　the　dining…room　she　papered　the　walls　with　peasant　woodcuts；　hung　up　bark　shoes　and　sickles；　stood　in　a　corner　a　scythe　and　a　rake；　and　so　achieved　a　dining…room　in　the　Russian　style。　In　her　bedroom　she　draped　the　ceiling　and　the　walls　with　dark　cloths　to　make　it　like　a　cavern；　hung　a　Venetian　lantern　over　the　beds；　and　at　the　door　set　a　figure　with　a　halberd。　And　every　one　thought　that　the　young　people　had　a　very　charming　little　home。
  When　she　got　up　at　eleven　o'clock　every　morning；　Olga　Ivanovna　played　the　piano　or；　if　it　were　sunny；　painted　something　in　oils。　Then　between　twelve　and　one　she　drove　to　her　dressmaker's。　As　Dymov　and　she　had　very　little　money；　only　just　enough；　she　and　her　dressmaker　were　often　put　to　clever　shifts　to　enable　her　to　appear　constantly　in　new　dresses　and　make　a　sensation　with　them。　Very　often　out　of　an　old　dyed　dress；　out　of　bits　of　tulle；　lace；　plush；　and　silk；　costing　nothing；　perfect　marvels　were　created；　something　bewitching　　not　a　dress；　but　a　dream。　From　the　dressmaker's　Olga　Ivanovna　usually　drove　to　some　actress　of　her　acquaintance　to　hear　the　latest　theatrical　gossip；　and　incidentally　to　try　and　get　hold　of　tickets　for　the　first　night　of　some　new　play　or　for　a　benefit　performance。　From　the　actress's　she　had　to　go　to　some　artist's　studio　or　to　some　exhibition　or　to　see　some　celebrity　　either　to　pay　a　visit　or　to　give　an　invitation　or　simply　to　have　a　chat。　And　everywhere　she　met　with　a　gay　and　friendly　welcome；　and　was　assured　that　she　was　good；　that　she　was　sweet；　that　she　was　rare。　。　。　。　Those　whom　she　called　great　and　famous　received　her　as　one　of　themselves；　as　an　equal；　and　predicted　with　one　voice　that；　with　her　talents；　her　taste；　and　her　intelligence；　she　would　do　great　things　if　she　concentrated　herself。　She　sang；　she　played　the　piano；　she　painted　in　oils；　she　carved；　she　took　part　in　amateur　performances；　and　all　this　not　just　anyhow；　but　all　with　talent；　whether　she　made　lanterns　for　an　illumination　or　dressed　up　or　tied　somebody's　cravat　　everything　she　did　was　exceptionally　graceful；　artistic；　and　charming。　But　her　talents　showed　themselves　in　nothing　so　clearly　as　in　her　faculty　for　quickly　becoming　acquainted　and　on　intimate　terms　with　celebrated　people。　No　sooner　did　any　one　become　ever　so　little　celebrated；　and　set　people　talking　about　him；　than　she　made　his　acquaintance；　got　on　friendly　terms　the　same　day；　and　invited　him　to　her　house。　Every　new　acquaintance　she　made　was　a　veritable　fete　for　her。　She　adored　celebrated　people；　was　proud　of　them；　dreamed　of　them　every　night。　She　craved　for　them；　and　never　could　satisfy　her　craving。　The　old　ones　departed　and　were　forgotten；　new　ones　came　to　replace　them；　but　to　these；　too；　she　soon　grew　accustomed　or　was　disappointed　in　them；　and　began　eagerly　seeking　for　fresh　great　men；　finding　them　and　seeking　for　them　again。　What　for？
  Between　four　and　five　she　dined　at　home　with　her　husband。　His　simplicity；　good　sense；　and　kind…heartedness　touched　her　and　moved　her　up　to　enthusiasm。　She　was　constantly　jumping　up；　impulsively　hugging　his　head　and　showering　kisses　on　it。
  〃You　are　a　clever；　generous　man；　Dymov；〃　she　used　to　say；　〃but　you　have　one　very　serious　defect。　You　take　absolutely　no　interest　in　art。　You　don't　believe　in　music　or　painting。〃
  〃I　don't　understand　them；〃　he　would　say　mildly。　〃I　have　spent　all　my　life　in　working　at　natural　science　and　medicine；　and　I　have　never　had　time　to　take　an　interest　in　the　arts。〃
  〃But；　you　know；　that's　awful；　Dymov！〃
  〃Why　so？　Your　friends　don't　know　a　nything　of　science　or　medicine；　but　you　don't　reproach　them　with　it。　Every　one　has　his　own　line。　I　don't　understand　landscapes　and　operas；　but　the　way　I　look　at　it　is　that　if　one　set　of　sensible　people　devote　their　whole　lives　to　them；　and　other　sensible　people　pay　immense　sums　for　them；　they　must　be　of　use。　I　don't　understand　them；　but　not　understanding　does　not　imply　disbelieving　in　them。〃
  〃Let　me　shake　your　honest　hand！〃
  After　dinner　Olga　Ivanovna　would　drive　off　to　see　her　friends；　then　to　a　theatre　or　to　a　concert；　and　she　returned　home　after　midnight。　So　it　was　every　day。
  On　Wednesdays　she　had　〃At　Homes。〃　At　these　〃At　Homes〃　the　hostess　and　her　guests　did　not　play　cards　and　did　not　dance；　but　entertained　themselves　with　various　arts。　An　actor　from　the　Dramatic　Theatre　recited；　a　singer　sang；　artists　sketched　in　the　albums　of　which　Olga　Ivanovna　had　a　great　number；　the　violoncellist　played；　and　the　hostess　herself　sketched；　carved；　sang；　and　played　accompaniments。　In　the　intervals　between　the　recitations；　music；　and　singing；　they　talked　and　argued　about　literature；　the　theatre；　and　painting。　There　were　no　ladies；　for　Olga　Ivanovna　considered　all　ladies　wearisome　and　vulgar　except　actresses　and　her　dressmaker。　Not　one　of　these　entertainments　passed　without　the　hostess　starting　at　every　ring　at　the　bell；　and　saying；　with　a　triumphant　expression；　〃It　is　he；〃　meaning　by　〃he；〃　of　course；　some　new　celebrity。　Dymov　was　not　in　the　drawing…room；　and　no　one　remembered　his　existence。　But　exactly　at　half…past　eleven　the　door　leading　into　the　dining…room　opened；　and　Dymov　would　appear　with　his　good…natured；　gentle　smile　and　say；　rubbing　his　hands：
  〃Come　to　supper；　gentlemen。〃
  They　all　went　into　the　dining…room；　and　every　time　found　on　the　table　exactly　the　same　things：　a　dish　of　oysters；　a　piece　of　ham　or　veal；　sardines；　cheese；　caviare；　mushrooms；　vodka；　and　two　decanters　of　wine。
  My　dear　_maitre　d'　hotel！_〃　Olga　Ivanovna　would　say；　clasping　her　hands　with　enthusiasm；　〃you　are　simply　fascinating！　My　friends；　look　at　his　forehead！　Dymov；　turn　your　profile。　Look！　he　has　the　face　of　a　Bengal　tiger　and　an　expression　as　kind　and　sweet　as　a　gazelle。　Ah；　the　darling！〃
  The　visitors　ate；　and；　looking　at　Dymov；　thought；　〃He　really　is　a　nice　fellow〃；　but　they　soon　forgot　about　him；　and　went　on　talking　about　the　theatre；　music；　and　painting。
  The　young　people　were　happy；　and　their　life　flowed　on　without　a　hitch。
  The　third　week　of　their　honeymoon　was　spent；　however；　not　quite　happily　　sadly；　indeed。　Dymov　caught　erysipelas　in　the　hospital；　was　in　bed　for　six　days；　and　had　to　have　his　beautiful　black　hair　cropped。　Olga　Ivanovna　sat　beside　him　and　wept　bitterly；　but　when　he　was　better　she　put　a　white　handkerchief　on　his　shaven　head　and　began　to　paint　him　as　a　Bedouin。　And　they　were　both　in　good　spirits。　Three　days　after　he　had　begun　to　go　back　to　the　hospital　he　had　another　mischance。
  〃I　have　no　luck；　little　mother；〃　he　said　one　day　at　dinner。　〃I　had　four　dissections　to　do　today；　and　I　cut　two　of　my　fingers　at　one。　And　I　did　not　notice　it　till　I　got　home。〃
  Olga　Ivanovna　was　alarmed。　He　smiled；　and　told　her　that　it　did　not　matter；　and　that　he　often　cut　his　hands　when　he　was　dissecting。
  〃I　get　absorbed；　little　mother；　and　grow　careless。〃
  Olga　Ivanovna　dreaded　symptoms　of　blood…poisoning；　and　prayed　about　it　every　night；　but　all　went　well。　And　again　life　flowed　on　peaceful　and　happy；　free　from　grief　and　anxiety。　The　present　was　happy；　and　to　follow　it　spring　was　at　hand；　already　smiling　in　the　distance；　and　promising　a　thousand　delights。　There　would　be　no　end　to　their　happiness。　In　April；　May　and　June　a　summer　villa　a　good　distance　out　of　town；　walks；　sketching；　fishing；　nightingales；　and　then　from　July　right　on　to　autumn　an　artist's　tour　on　the　Volga；　and　in　this　tour　Olga　Ivanovna　would　take　part　as　an　indispensable　member　of　the　society。　She　had　already　had　made　for　her　two　travelling　dresses　of　linen；　had　bought　paints；　brushes；　canvases；　and　a　new　palette　for　the　journey。　Almost　every　day　Ryabovsky　visited　her　to　see　what　progress　she　was　making　in　her　painting；　when　she　showed　him　her　painting；　he　used　to　thrust　his　hands　deep　into　his　pockets；　compress　his　lips；　sniff；　and　say：
  〃Yees　。　。　。　！　That　cloud　of　yours　is　screaming：　it's　not　in　the　evening　light。　The　foreground　is　somehow　chewed　up；　and　there　is　something；　you　know；　not　the　thing。　。　。　。　And　your　cottage　is　weighed　down　and　whines　pitifully。　That　corner　ought　to　have　been　taken　more　in　shadow；　but　on　the　whole　it　is　not　bad；　I　like　it。〃
  And　the　more　incomprehensible　he　talked；　the　more　readily　Olga　Ivanovna　understood　him。
  III
  After　dinner　on　the　second　day　of　Trinity　week；　Dymov　bought　some　sweets　and　some　savouries　and　went　down　to　the　villa　to　see　his　wife。　He　had　not　seen　her　for　a　fortnight；　and　missed　her　terribly。　As　he　sat　in　the　train　and　afterwards　as　he　looked　for　his　villa　in　a　big　wood；　he　felt　all　the　while　hungry　and　weary；　and　dreamed　of　how　he　would　have　supper　in　freedom　with　his　wife；　then　tumble　into　bed　and　to　sleep。　And　he　was　delighted　as　he　looked　at　his　parcel；　in　which　there　was　caviare；　cheese；　and　white　salmon。
  The　sun　was　setting　by　the　time　he　found　his　villa　and　recognized　it。　The　old　servant　told　him　that　her　mistress　was　not　at　home；　but　that　most　likely　she　would　soon　be　in。　The　villa；　very　uninviting　in　appearance；　with　low　ceilings　papered　with　writing…paper　and　with　uneven　floors　full　of　crevices；　consisted　only　of　three　rooms。　In　one　there　was　a　bed；　in　the　second　there　were　canvases；　bru