The smart maid, who came in to offer her services, with her hair done up high, and a gown more fashionable than Dolly’s, was as new and expensive as the whole room.  Darya Alexandrovna liked her neatness, her deferential and obliging manners, but she felt ill at ease with her.  She felt ashamed of her seeing the patched dressing jacket that had unluckily been packed by mistake for her.  She was ashamed of the very patches and darned places of which she had been so proud at home.  At home it had been so clear that for six dressing jackets there would be needed twenty-four yards of nainsook at sixteen pence the yard, which was a matter of thirty shillings besides the cutting-out and making, and these thirty shillings had been saved.  But before the maid she felt, if not exactly ashamed, at least uncomfortable.

Darya Alexandrovna had a great sense of relief when Annushka, whom she had known for years, walked in.  The smart maid was sent for to go to her mistress, and Annushka remained with Darya Alexandrovna.

Annushka was obviously much pleased at that lady’s arrival, and began to chatter away without a pause.  Dolly observed that she was longing to express her opinion in regard to her mistress’s position, especially as to the love and devotion of the count to Anna Arkadyevna, but Dolly carefully interrupted her whenever she began to speak about this.

“I grew up with Anna Arkadyevna; my lady’s dearer to me than anything.  Well, it’s not for us to judge.  And, to be sure, there seems so much love...”

“Kindly pour out the water for me to wash now, please,” Darya Alexandrovna cut her short.

“Certainly.  We’ve two women kept specially for washing small things, but most of the linen’s done by machinery.  The count goes into everything himself.  Ah, what a husband!...”

Dolly was glad when Anna came in, and by her entrance put a stop to Annushka’s gossip.

Anna had put on a very simple batiste gown.  Dolly scrutinized that simple gown attentively.  She knew what it meant, and the price at which such simplicity was obtained.

“An old friend,” said Anna of Annushka.

Anna was not embarrassed now.  She was perfectly composed and at ease.  Dolly saw that she had now completely recovered from the impression her arrival had made on her, and had assumed that superficial, careless tone which, as it were, closed the door on that compartment in which her deeper feelings and ideas were kept.

“Well, Anna, and how is your little girl?” asked Dolly.

“Annie?” (This was what she called her little daughter Anna.) “Very well.  She has got on wonderfully.  Would you like to see her?  Come, I’ll show her to you.  We had a terrible bother,” she began telling her, “over nurses.  We had an Italian wet-nurse.  A good creature, but so stupid!  We wanted to get rid of her, but the baby is so used to her that we’ve gone on keeping her still.”