When Alexey Alexandrovitch came into the Countess Lidia

Ivanovna's snug little boudoir, decorated with old china and hung

with portraits, the lady herself had not yet made her appearance.

She was changing her dress.

A cloth was laid on a round table, and on it stood a china

tea service and a silver spirit-lamp and tea kettle. Alexey

Alexandrovitch looked idly about at the endless familiar

portraits which adorned the room, and sitting down to the table,

he opened a New Testament lying upon it. The rustle of the

countess's silk skirt drew his attention off.

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"Well now, we can sit quietly," said Countess Lidia Ivanovna,

slipping hurriedly with an agitated smile between the table and

the sofa, "and talk over our tea."

After some words of preparation, Countess Lidia Ivanovna,

breathing hard and flushing crimson, gave into Alexey

Alexandrovitch's hands the letter she had received.

After reading the letter, he sat a long while in silence.

"I don't think I have the right to refuse her," he said,

timidly lifting his eyes.

"Dear friend, you never see evil in anyone!"

"On the contrary, I see that all is evil. But whether it is

just..."

His face showed irresolution, and a seeking for counsel, support,

and guidance in a matter he did not understand.

"No," Countess Lidia Ivanovna interrupted him; "there are limits

to everything. I can understand immorality," she said, not

quite truthfully, since she never could understand that which

leads women to immorality; "but I don't understand cruelty: to

whom? to you! How can she stay in the town where you are? No,

the longer one lives the more one learns. And I'm learning to

understand your loftiness and her baseness."

"Who is to throw a stone?" said Alexey Alexandrovitch,

unmistakably pleased with the part he had to play. "I have

forgiven all, and so I cannot deprive her of what is exacted by

love in her--by her love for her son...."

"But is that love, my friend? Is it sincere? Admitting that you

have forgiven--that you forgive--have we the right to work on the

feelings of that angel? He looks on her as dead. He prays for

her, and beseeches God to have mercy on her sins. And it is

better so. But now what will he think?"

"I had not thought of that," said Alexey Alexandrovitch,

evidently agreeing.

Countess Lidia Ivanovna hid her face in her hands and was silent.

she was praying.

"If you ask my advice," she said, having finished her prayer and

uncovered her face, "I do not advise you to do this. Do you

suppose I don't see how you are suffering, how this has torn open

your wounds? But supposing that, as always, you don't think of

yourself, what can it lead to?--to fresh suffering for you, to

torture for the child. If there were a trace of humanity left in

her, she ought not to wish for it herself. No, I have no

hesitation in saying I advise not, and if you will intrust it to

me, I will write to her."




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