trable, and he saw all the idleness and uselessness of his words.
"You are always like this," she said, as if she had not understood him, and intentionally had understood only the last part of what he said. "Sometimes you don't like it because I am bored, and sometimes you don't like it because I have a good time. I was not bored this evening; does that disturb you?"
Alekseï Aleksandrovitch trembled; again he stretched his fingers till the knuckles cracked.
"Akh! I beg of you, don't crack your fingers, I detest it so," said she.
"Anna, is this you?" said Alekseï Aleksandrovitch, trying to control himself, and stopping the movement of his hands.
"Yes! but what is it?" she asked, with a sincere and almost comic astonishment. "What do you want of me?"
Alekseï Aleksandrovitch was silent, and passed his hand across his brow and over his eyes. He felt that, instead of having done as he intended, that is, instead of having warned his wife of her errors in the sight of the world, he was agitated at what concerned her conscience, and was perhaps striking some imaginary wall.
"This is what I wanted to say," he continued, coldly and calmly, "and I beg you to listen to me until I have done. As you know, I regard jealousy as an insulting and degrading sentiment, and I never allow myself to be led away by it; but there are certain laws of propriety which one cannot cross with impunity. This evening, judging by the impression which you made,—I am not the only one that noticed it, all did,—you did not conduct yourself at all in a proper manner."
"Decidedly I do not understand at all," said Anna, shrugging her shoulders. "He does not really care," she thought; "all that he fears is the opinion of the world."—"You are not well, Alekseï Aleksandrovitch," she added, rising, and starting to go to her room.
