At one o’clock she changed her dress in the room next to the study, which from that time she called hers, and she went off with Orlov to lunch.  They dined, too, at a restaurant, and spent the long interval between lunch and dinner in shopping.  Till late at night I was opening the door to messengers and errand-boys from the shops.  They bought, among other things, a splendid pier-glass, a dressing-table, a bedstead, and a gorgeous tea service which we did not need.  They bought a regular collection of copper saucepans, which we set in a row on the shelf in our cold, empty kitchen.  As we were unpacking the tea service Polya’s eyes gleamed, and she looked at me two or three times with hatred and fear that I, not she, would be the first to steal one of these charming cups.  A lady’s writing-table, very expensive and inconvenient, came too.  It was evident that Zinaida Fyodorovna contemplated settling with us for good, and meant to make the flat her home.

She came back with Orlov between nine and ten.  Full of proud consciousness that she had done something bold and out of the common, passionately in love, and, as she imagined, passionately loved, exhausted, looking forward to a sweet sound sleep, Zinaida Fyodorovna was revelling in her new life.  She squeezed her hands together in the excess of her joy, declared that everything was delightful, and swore that she would love Orlov for ever; and these vows, and the naive, almost childish confidence that she too was deeply loved and would be loved forever, made her at least five years younger.  She talked charming nonsense and laughed at herself.

“There’s no other blessing greater than freedom!” she said, forcing herself to say something serious and edifying.  “How absurd it is when you think of it!  We attach no value to our own opinion even when it is wise, but tremble before the opinion of all sorts of stupid people.  Up to the last minute I was afraid of what other people would say, but as soon as I followed my own instinct and made up my mind to go my own way, my eyes were opened, I overcame my silly fears, and now I am happy and wish every one could be as happy!”

But her thoughts immediately took another turn, and she began talking of another flat, of wallpapers, horses, a trip to Switzerland and Italy.  Orlov was tired by the restaurants and the shops, and was still suffering from the same uneasiness that I had noticed in the morning.  He smiled, but more from politeness than pleasure, and when she spoke of anything seriously, he agreed ironically:  “Oh, yes.”

“Stepan, make haste and find us a good cook,” she said to me.

“There’s no need to be in a hurry over the kitchen arrangements,” said Orlov, looking at me coldly.  “We must first move into another flat.”