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Kostya, a boy of fourteen, to show off his prowess before his mother and sister, dived and swam farther, but began to be exhausted and hurried back, and from his strained and serious face it could be seen that he could not trust his own strength. "The trouble one has with these boys, my dear!" said Marya Konstantinovna, growing calmer. "Before you can turn round, he will break his neck.
My dear, don't speak, don't speak," cried Marya Konstantinovna, observing that Nadyezhda Fyodorovna wanted to speak. "Trust me, I will not deceive you, I will not hide one truth from the eyes of your soul. Listen to me, my dear. . . . God marks great sinners, and you have been marked-out: only think your costumes have always been appalling."
Marya Konstantinovna, who had been a governess in aristocratic families and who was an authority on social matters, said: "Oh yes! Would you believe me, my dear, at the Garatynskys' I was expected to dress for lunch as well as for dinner, so that, like an actress, I received a special allowance for my wardrobe in addition to my salary."
Nadyezhda Fyodorovna, who had always had the highest opinion of her costumes, left off crying and looked at her with surprise. "Yes, appalling," Marya Konstantinovna went on. "Any one could judge of your behaviour from the elaboration and gaudiness of your attire.
I wake up every morning before it is light, and wash my face with cold water that my Nikodim Alexandritch may not see me looking drowsy." "That's all nonsense," Nadyezhda Fyodorovna sobbed. "If only I were happy, but I am so unhappy!" "Yes, yes; you are very unhappy!" Marya Konstantinovna sighed, hardly able to restrain herself from weeping.
And something at the bottom of her soul dimly and obscurely whispered to her that she was a pretty, common, miserable, worthless woman. . . . Marya Konstantinovna stopped at her gate and asked her to come in and sit down for a little while.
You are both going through a crisis. . . . One can so well understand it! Well, my dear, I am waiting for an answer. Let us have a little talk." "No, we are not going to talk," said Nadyezhda Fyodorovna, listening to Laevsky's sobs. "I feel depressed. . . . You must allow me to go home." "What do you mean, what do you mean, my dear?" cried Marya Konstantinovna in alarm.
Going into the bathing-house, Nadyezhda Fyodorovna found there an elderly lady, Marya Konstantinovna Bityugov, and her daughter Katya, a schoolgirl of fifteen; both of them were sitting on a bench undressing. Marya Konstantinovna was a good-natured, enthusiastic, and genteel person, who talked in a drawling and pathetic voice.
As she talked to her visitor, Marya Konstantinovna kept remembering that they were to have a picnic that evening, and that Von Koren had particularly begged her to say nothing about it to the "Japanese monkeys" that is, Laevsky and Nadyezhda Fyodorovna; but she dropped a word about it unawares, crimsoned, and said in confusion: "I hope you will come too!"
"We must have a little talk," Nadyezhda Fyodorovna read in a little note; she glanced at Marya Konstantinovna, who gave her an almond-oily smile and nodded. "Talk of what?" thought Nadyezhda Fyodorovna. "If one can't tell the whole, it's no use talking." Before going out for the evening she had tied Laevsky's cravat for him, and that simple action filled her soul with tenderness and sorrow.
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