transacted his business he returned at four o'clock; as he entered the anteroom, he noticed an Adonis of a lackey, in livery and bearskin cloak, holding a white rotonda, or mantle, lined with American fox.
"Who is here?" he asked.
"The Princess Yehzavyeta Feodorovna Tverskaya," replied the lackey, with a smile, as it seemed to Alekseï Aleksandrovitch.
All through this painful period Alekseï Aleksandrovitch noticed that his society friends, especially the women, showed a very marked interest in him and in his wife. He noticed in them all that veiled look of amusement which he saw in the lawyer's eyes, and which he now saw in the lackey's. They all seemed delighted, as if they were going to a wedding. When people met him, and inquired after his health, they did so with this same half-concealed hilarity.
The presence of the Princess Tverskaya was not agreeable to Aleksel Aleksandrovitch, both because he had never liked her, and because she called up unpleasant memories, and so he went directly to the nursery.
In the first room, Serozha, leaning on a table, with his feet in a chair, was drawing, and chattering merrily. The English governess, who had replaced the French woman soon after Anna's illness, was sitting near the child, with her fancy work in her hand; she rose, made a courtesy, and put Serozha's feet down.
Alekseï Aleksandrovitch smoothed his son's hair, answered the governess's questions about his wife's health, and asked what the doctor said about baby.
"The doctor said that it was nothing serious. He ordered baths, sir."
"She is still in pain, nevertheless," said Alekseï Aleksandrovitch, hearing the child cry in the next room.
"I believe, sir, that the wet-nurse does not suit her," replied the Englishwoman, decidedly.
"What makes you think so?" he asked, as he paused on his way.
"It was the same at the Countess Pahl's, sir. They dosed the child with medicine, while it was merely suf-
