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Updated: June 12, 2025
I don't understand it." She heard steps and voices. The visitors had come back. "Let them come," thought Olga Mihalovna; "I shall lie a little longer." But a maid-servant came and said: "Marya Grigoryevna is going, madam." Olga Mihalovna jumped up, tidied her hair and hurried out of the room.
"Be so kind as to tell me what this means? I am asking you." "Be so kind . . ." Pyotr Dmitritch mimicked her, not showing his face. "It's sickening, Olga! Upon my honour, I am exhausted and not up to it. . . . Let us do our quarrelling to-morrow." "No, I understand you perfectly!" Olga Mihalovna went on. "You hate me! Yes, yes! You hate me because I am richer than you!
Whether with her, or with another, still it would be. He was reading a book, and thinking of what he was reading, and stopping to listen to Agafea Mihalovna, who gossiped away without flagging, and yet with all that, all sorts of pictures of family life and work in the future rose disconnectedly before his imagination.
The efforts of Agafea Mihalovna and the cook, that the dinner should be particularly good, only ended in the two famished friends attacking the preliminary course, eating a great deal of bread and butter, salt goose and salted mushrooms, and in Levin's finally ordering the soup to be served without the accompaniment of little pies, with which the cook had particularly meant to impress their visitor.
"And what if I really am dying?" thought Olga Mihalovna, looking at her husband's head and the window-panes on which the rain was beating. "How will he live without me? With whom will he have tea and dinner, talk in the evenings, sleep?" And he seemed to her like a forlorn child; she felt sorry for him and wanted to say something nice, caressing and consolatory.
"But, Basile, I swear I saw a man getting in at the window!" "Well, what of it? Let him get in. . . . That's pretty sure to be Pelagea's sweetheart, the fireman." "What! what did you say?" "I say it's Pelagea's fireman come to see her." "Worse than ever!" shrieked Marya Mihalovna. "That's worse than a burglar! I won't put up with cynicism in my house!" "Hoity-toity!
"I must look horribly unseemly," she thought. Pyotr Dmitritch put her back in bed without a word, and covered her with the quilt, then he took the candle and went out. "For God's sake!" Olga Mihalovna cried again. "Pyotr, understand, understand!"
Agafea Mihalovna looked angrily at Kitty. "You needn't try to console me, mistress. I need only to look at you with him, and I feel happy," she said, and something in the rough familiarity of that with him touched Kitty. "Come along with us to look for mushrooms, you will show us the best places."
I can't understand that sort of thing, Vassitchka." Vassitchka cleared his throat, frowned, and walked up and down the room. "You had a gay time there, I must say," he growled with a disdainful smile. "How stu-upid that is!" cried Natalya Mihalovna, offended. "I know what you are thinking about! You always have such horrid ideas! I won't tell you anything! No, I won't!"
But nothing mattered to Olga Mihalovna now, there was a mistiness in her brain from the chloroform, an emptiness in her soul. . . . The dull indifference to life which had overcome her when the two doctors were performing the operation still had possession of her. My Friend's Story
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