g　left　alone　with　her；　he　often　brought　in　to　dinner　his　colleague；　Korostelev；　a　little　close…cropped　man　with　a　wrinkled　face；　who　kept　buttoning　and　unbuttoning　his　reefer　jacket　with　embarrassment　when　he　talked　with　Olga　Ivanovna；　and　then　with　his　right　hand　nipped　his　left　moustache。　At　dinner　the　two　doctors　talked　about　the　fact　that　a　displacement　of　the　diaphragm　was　sometimes　accompanied　by　irregularities　of　the　heart；　or　that　a　great　number　of　neurotic　complaints　were　met　with　of　late；　or　that　Dymov　had　the　day　before　found　a　cancer　of　the　lower　abdomen　while　dissecting　a　corpse　with　the　diagnosis　of　pernicious　anaemia。　And　it　seemed　as　though　they　were　talking　of　medicine　to　give　Olga　Ivanovna　a　chance　of　being　silent　　that　is；　of　not　lying。　After　dinner　Korostelev　sat　　down　to　the　piano；　while　Dymov　sighed　and　said　to　him：
  〃Ech；　brother　　well；　well！　Play　something　melancholy。〃
  Hunching　up　his　shoulders　and　stretching　his　fingers　wide　apart；　Korostelev　played　some　chords　and　began　singing　in　a　tenor　voice；　〃Show　me　the　abode　where　the　Russian　peasant　would　not　groan；〃　while　Dymov　sighed　once　more；　propped　his　head　on　his　fist；　and　sank　into　thought。
  Olga　Ivanovna　had　been　extremely　imprudent　in　her　conduct　of　late。　Every　morning　she　woke　up　in　a　very　bad　humour　and　with　the　thought　that　she　no　longer　cared　for　Ryabovsky；　and　that；　thank　God；　it　was　all　over　now。　But　as　she　drank　her　coffee　she　reflected　that　Ryabovsky　had　robbed　her　of　her　husband；　and　that　now　she　was　left　with　neither　her　husband　nor　Ryabovsky；　then　she　remembered　talks　she　had　heard　among　her　acquaintances　of　a　picture　Ryabovsky　was　preparing　for　the　exhibition；　something　striking；　a　mixture　of　genre　and　landscape；　in　the　style　of　Polyenov；　about　which　every　one　who　had　been　into　his　studio　went　into　raptures；　and　this；　of　course；　she　mused；　he　had　created　under　her　influence；　and　altogether；　thanks　to　her　influence；　he　had　greatly　changed　for　the　better。　Her　influence　was　so　beneficent　and　essential　that　if　she　were　to　leave　him　he　might　perhaps　go　to　ruin。　And　she　remembered；　too；　that　the　last　time　he　had　come　to　see　her　in　a　great…coat　with　flecks　on　it　and　a　new　tie；　he　had　asked　her　languidly：
  〃Am　I　beautiful？〃
  And　with　his　elegance；　his　long　curls；　and　his　blue　eyes；　he　really　was　very　beautiful　（or　perhaps　it　only　seemed　so）；　and　he　had　been　affectionate　to　her。
  Considering　and　remembering　many　things　Olga　Ivanovna　dressed　and　in　great　agitation　drove　to　Ryabovsky's　studio。　She　found　him　in　high　spirits；　and　enchanted　with　his　really　magnificent　picture。　He　was　dancing　about　and　playing　the　fool　and　answering　serious　questions　with　jokes。　Olga　Ivanovna　was　jealous　of　the　picture　and　hated　it；　but　from　politeness　she　stood　before　the　picture　for　five　minutes　in　silence；　and；　heaving　a　sigh；　as　though　before　a　holy　shrine；　said　softly：
  〃Yes；　you　have　never　painted　anything　like　it　before。　Do　you　know；　it　is　positively　awe…inspiring？〃
  And　then　she　began　beseeching　him　to　love　her　and　not　to　cast　her　off；　to　have　pity　on　her　in　her　misery　and　her　wretchedness。　She　shed　tears；　kissed　his　hands；　insisted　on　his　swearing　that　he　loved　her；　told　him　that　without　her　good　influence　he　would　go　astray　and　be　ruined。　And；　when　she　had　spoilt　his　good…humour；　feeling　herself　humiliated；　she　would　drive　off　to　her　dressmaker　or　to　an　actress　of　her　acquaintance　to　try　and　get　theatre　tickets。
  If　she　did　not　find　him　at　his　studio　she　left　a　letter　in　which　she　swore　that　if　he　did　not　come　to　see　her　that　day　she　would　poison　herself。　He　was　scared；　came　to　see　her；　and　stayed　to　dinner。　Regardless　of　her　husband's　presence；　he　would　say　rude　things　to　her；　and　she　would　answer　him　in　the　same　way。　Both　felt　they　were　a　burden　to　each　other；　that　they　were　tyrants　and　enemies；　and　were　wrathful；　and　in　their　wrath　did　not　notice　that　their　behaviour　was　unseemly；　and　that　even　Korostelev；　with　his　close…cropped　head；　saw　it　all。　After　dinner　Ryabovsky　made　haste　to　say　good…bye　and　get　away。
  〃Where　are　you　off　to？〃　Olga　Ivanovna　would　ask　him　in　the　hall；　looking　at　him　with　hatred。
  Scowling　and　screwing　up　his　eyes；　he　mentioned　some　lady　of　their　acquaintance；　and　it　was　evident　that　he　was　laughing　at　her　jealousy　and　wanted　to　annoy　her。　She　went　to　her　bedroom　and　lay　down　on　her　bed；　from　jealousy；　anger；　a　sense　of　humiliation　and　shame；　she　bit　the　pillow　and　began　sobbing　aloud。　Dymov　left　Korostelev　in　the　drawing…room；　went　into　the　bedroom；　and　with　a　desperate　and　embarrassed　face　said　softly：
  〃Don't　cry　so　loud；　little　mother；　there's　no　need。　You　must　be　quiet　about　it。　You　must　not　let　people　see。　。　。　。　You　know　what　is　done　is　done；　and　can't　be　mended。〃
  Not　knowing　how　to　ease　the　burden　of　her　jealousy；　which　actually　set　her　temples　throbbing　with　pain；　and　thinking　still　that　things　might　be　set　right；　she　would　wash；　powder　her　tear…stained　face；　and　fly　off　to　the　lady　mentioned。
  Not　finding　Ryabovsky　with　her；　she　would　drive　off　to　a　second；　then　to　a　third。　At　first　she　was　ashamed　to　go　about　like　this；　but　afterwards　she　got　used　to　it；　and　it　would　happen　that　in　one　evening　she　would　make　the　round　of　all　her　female　acquaintances　in　search　of　Ryabovsky；　and　they　all　understood　it。
  One　day　she　said　to　Ryabovsky　of　her　husband：
  〃That　man　crushes　me　with　his　magnanimity。〃
  This　phrase　pleased　her　so　much　that　when　she　met　the　artists　who　knew　of　her　affair　with　Ryabovsky　she　said　every　time　of　her　husband；　with　a　vigorous　movement　of　her　arm：
  〃That　man　crushes　me　with　his　magnanimity。〃
  Their　manner　of　life　was　the　same　as　it　had　been　the　year　before。　On　Wednesdays　they　were　〃At　Home〃；　an　actor　recited；　the　artists　sketched。　The　violoncellist　played；　a　singer　sang；　and　invariably　at　half…past　eleven　the　door　leading　to　the　dining…room　opened　and　Dymov；　smiling；　said：
  〃Come　to　supper；　gentlemen。〃
  As　before；　Olga　Ivanovna　hunted　celebrities；　found　them；　was　not　satisfied；　and　went　in　pursuit　of　fresh　ones。　As　before；　she　came　back　late　every　night；　but　now　Dymov　was　not；　as　last　year；　asleep；　but　sitting　in　his　study　at　work　of　some　sort。　He　went　to　bed　at　three　o'clock　and　got　up　at　eight。
  One　evening　when　she　was　getting　ready　to　go　to　the　theatre　and　standing　before　the　pier　glass；　Dymov　came　into　her　bedroom；　wearing　his　dress…coat　and　a　white　tie。　He　was　smiling　gently　and　looked　into　his　wife's　face　joyfully；　as　in　old　days；　his　face　was　radiant。
  〃I　have　just　been　defending　my　thesis；〃　he　said；　sitting　down　and　smoothing　his　knees。
  〃Defending？〃　asked　Olga　Ivanovna。
  〃Oh；　oh！〃　he　laughed；　and　he　craned　his　neck　to　see　his　wife's　face　in　the　mirror；　for　she　was　still　standing　with　her　back　to　him；　doing　up　her　hair。　〃Oh；　oh；〃　he　repeated；　〃do　you　know　it's　very　possible　they　may　offer　me　the　Readership　in　General　Pathology？　It　seems　like　it。〃
  It　was　evident　from　his　beaming；　blissful　face　that　if　Olga　Ivanovna　had　shared　with　him　his　joy　and　triumph　he　would　have　forgiven　her　everything；　both　the　present　and　the　future；　and　would　have　forgotten　everything；　but　she　did　not　understand　what　was　meant　by　a　〃readership〃　or　by　〃general　pathology〃；　besides；　she　was　afraid　of　being　late　for　the　theatre；　and　she　said　nothing。
  He　sat　there　another　two　minutes；　and　with　a　guilty　smile　went　away。
  VII
  It　had　been　a　very　troubled　day。
  Dymov　had　a　very　bad　headache；　he　had　no　breakfast；　and　did　not　go　to　the　hospital；　but　spent　the　whole　time　lying　on　his　sofa　in　the　study。　Olga　Ivanovna　went　as　usual　at　midday　to　see　Ryabovsky；　to　show　him　her　still…life　sketch；　and　to　ask　him　why　he　had　not　been　to　see　her　the　evening　before。　The　sketch　seemed　to　her　worthless；　and　she　had　painted　it　only　in　order　to　have　an　additional　reason　for　going　to　the　artist。
  She　went　in　to　him　without　ringing；　and　as　she　was　taking　off　her　goloshes　in　the　entry　she　heard　a　sound　as　of　something　running　softly　in　the　studio；　with　a　feminine　rustle　of　skirts；　and　as　she　hastened　to　peep　in　she　caught　a　momentary　glimpse　of　a　bit　of　brown　petticoat；　which　vanished　behind　a　big　picture　draped；　together　with　the　easel；　with　black　calico；　to　the　floor。　There　could　be　no　doubt　that　a　woman　was　hiding　there。　How　often　Olga　Ivanovna　herself　had　taken　refuge　behind　that　picture！
  Ryabovsky；　evidently　much　embarrassed；　held　out　both　hands　to　her；　as　though　surprised　at　her　arrival；　and　said　with　a　forced　smile：
  〃Aha！　Very　glad　to　see　you！　Anything　nice　to　tell　me？〃
  Olga　Ivanovna's　eyes　filled　with　tears。　She　felt　ashamed　and　bitter；　and　would　not　for　a　million　roubles　have　consented　to　speak　in　the　presence　of　the　outsider；　the　rival；　the　deceitful　woman　who　was　standing　now　behind　the　picture；　and　probably　giggling　malignantly。
  〃I　have　brought　you　a　sketch；〃　she　said　timidly　in　a　thin　voice；　and　her　lips　quivered。　〃_Nature　morte。_〃
  〃Ahah！　。　。　。　A　sketch？〃
  The　artist　took　the　sketch　in　his　hands；　and　as　he　examined　it　w　alked；　as　it　were　mechanically；　into　the　other　room。
  Olga　Ivanovna　followed　him　humbly。
  〃_Nature　morte_　。　。　。　first…rate　sort；〃　he　muttered；　falling　into　rhyme。　〃Kurort　。　。　。　sport　。　。　。　port　。　。　。〃
  From　the　studio　came　the　sound　of　hurried　footsteps