In the church there was all Moscow, all the friends and

relations; and during the ceremony of plighting troth, in the

brilliantly lighted church, there was an incessant flow of

discreetly subdued talk in the circle of gaily dressed women and

girls, and men in white ties, frockcoats, and uniforms. The talk

was principally kept up by the men, while the women were absorbed

in watching every detail of the ceremony, which always means so

much to them.

In the little group nearest to the bride were her two sisters:

Dolly, and the other one, the self-possessed beauty, Madame

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Lvova, who had just arrived from abroad.

"Why is it Marie's in lilac, as bad as black, at a wedding?" said

Madame Korsunskaya.

"With her complexion, it's the one salvation," responded Madame

Trubetskaya. "I wonder why they had the wedding in the evening?

It's like shop-people..."

"So much prettier. I was married in the evening too..." answered

Madame Korsunskaya, and she sighed, remembering how charming she

had been that day, and how absurdly in love her husband was, and

how different it all was now.

"They say if anyone's best man more than ten times, he'll never

be married. I wanted to be for the tenth time, but the post was

taken," said Count Siniavin to the pretty Princess Tcharskaya,

who had designs on him.

Princess Tcharskaya only answered with a smile. She looked at

Kitty, thinking how and when she would stand with Count Siniavin

in Kitty's place, and how she would remind him then of his joke

today.

Shtcherbatsky told the old maid of honor, Madame Nikolaeva, that

he meant to put the crown on Kitty's chignon for luck.

"She ought not to have worn a chignon," answered Madame

Nikolaeva, who had long ago made up her mind that if the elderly

widower she was angling for married her, the wedding should be of

the simplest. "I don't like such grandeur."

Sergey Ivanovitch was talking to Darya Dmitrievna, jestingly

assuring her that the custom of going away after the wedding was

becoming common because newly married people always felt a little

ashamed of themselves.

"Your brother may feel proud of himself. She's a marvel of

sweetness. I believe you're envious."

"Oh, I've got over that, Darya Dmitrievna," he answered, and a

melancholy and serious expression suddenly came over his face.

Stepan Arkadyevitch was telling his sister-in-law his joke about

divorce.

"The wreath wants setting straight," she answered, not hearing

him.

"What a pity she's lost her looks so," Countess Nordston said to

Madame Lvova. "Still he's not worth her little finger, is he?"




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