“Of course, you must be bored.  Go by yourself if you like.”

Sofya Petrovna agreed, but at once reflected that Ilyin would be delighted with the opportunity, and would go with her in the same train, in the same compartment. . . .  She thought and looked at her husband, now satisfied but still languid.  For some reason her eyes rested on his feet—­miniature, almost feminine feet, clad in striped socks; there was a thread standing out at the tip of each sock.

Behind the blind a bumble-bee was beating itself against the window-pane and buzzing.  Sofya Petrovna looked at the threads on the socks, listened to the bee, and pictured how she would set off . . . . vis-a-vis Ilyin would sit, day and night, never taking his eyes off her, wrathful at his own weakness and pale with spiritual agony.  He would call himself an immoral schoolboy, would abuse her, tear his hair, but when darkness came on and the passengers were asleep or got out at a station, he would seize the opportunity to kneel before her and embrace her knees as he had at the seat in the wood. . . .

She caught herself indulging in this day-dream.

“Listen.  I won’t go alone,” she said.  “You must come with me.”

“Nonsense, Sofotchka!” sighed Lubyantsev.  “One must be sensible and not want the impossible.”

“You will come when you know all about it,” thought Sofya Petrovna.

Making up her mind to go at all costs, she felt that she was out of danger.  Little by little her ideas grew clearer; her spirits rose and she allowed herself to think about it all, feeling that however much she thought, however much she dreamed, she would go away.  While her husband was asleep, the evening gradually came on.  She sat in the drawing-room and played the piano.  The greater liveliness out of doors, the sound of music, but above all the thought that she was a sensible person, that she had surmounted her difficulties, completely restored her spirits.  Other women, her appeased conscience told her, would probably have been carried off their feet in her position, and would have lost their balance, while she had almost died of shame, had been miserable, and was now running out of the danger which perhaps did not exist!  She was so touched by her own virtue and determination that she even looked at herself two or three times in the looking-glass.

When it got dark, visitors arrived.  The men sat down in the dining-room to play cards; the ladies remained in the drawing-room and the verandah.  The last to arrive was Ilyin.  He was gloomy, morose, and looked ill.  He sat down in the corner of the sofa and did not move the whole evening.  Usually good-humoured and talkative, this time he remained silent, frowned, and rubbed his eyebrows.  When he had to answer some question, he gave a forced smile with his upper lip only, and answered jerkily and irritably.  Four or five times he made some jest, but his jests sounded harsh and cutting.