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laughter that people laugh who do not laugh often. “You’d better ask
them,” she brought out, between tears of laughter.
“No; you laugh,” said Anna, laughing too in spite of herself, “but I
never could understand it. I can’t understand the husband’s role in it.”
“The husband? Liza Merkalova’s husband carries her shawl, and
is always ready to be of use. But anything more than that in reality, no
one cares to inquire. You know in decent society one doesn’t talk or
think even of certain details of the toilet. That’s how it is with this.”
“Will you be at Madame Rolandak’s fete?” asked Anna, to change
the conversation.
“I don’t think so,” answered Betsy, and, without looking at her friend,
she began filling the little transparent cups with fragrant tea. Putting
a cup before Anna, she took out a cigarette, and, fitting it into a silver
holder, she lighted it.
“It’s like this, you see: I’m in a fortunate position,” she began, quite
serious now, as she took up her cup. “I understand you, and I under-
stand Liza. Liza now is one of those naive natures that, like children,
don’t know what’s good and what’s bad. Anyway, she didn’t compre-
hend it when she was very young. And now she’s aware that the lack of
comprehension suits her. Now, perhaps, she doesn’t know on purpose,”
said Betsy, with a subtle smile. “But, anyway, it suits her. The very
same thing, don’t you see, may be looked at tragically, and turned into a
misery, or it may be looked at simply and even humorously. Possibly
you are inclined to look at things too tragically.”
“How I should like to know other people just as I know myself!”
said Anna, seriously and dreamily. “Am I worse than other people, or
better? I think I’m worse.”
“Enfant terrible, enfant terrible!” repeated Betsy. “But here they
are.”
Chapter 18.
They heard the sound of steps and a man’s voice, then a woman’s
voice and laughter, and immediately thereafter there walked in the
expected guests: Sappho Shtoltz, and a young man beaming with
excess of health, the so-called Vaska. It was evident that ample sup-
plies of beefsteak, truffles, and Burgundy never failed to reach him at
the fitting hour. Vaska bowed to the two ladies, and glanced at them,
but only for one second. He walked after Sappho into the drawing-
room, and followed her about as though he were chained to her, keep-
ing his sparkling eyes fixed on her as though he wanted to eat her.
Sappho Shtoltz was a blonde beauty with black eyes. She walked with
smart little steps in high-heeled shoes, and shook hands with the la-
dies vigorously like a man.
Anna had never met this new star of fashion, and was struck by her
beauty, the exaggerated extreme to which her dress was carried, and
the boldness of her manners. On her head there was such a super-
structure of soft, golden hair—her own and false mixed—that her
head was equal in size to the elegantly rounded bust, of which so much
was exposed in front. The impulsive abruptness of her movements
was such that at every step the lines of her knees and the upper part of
her legs were distinctly marked under her dress, and the question
involuntarily rose to the mind where in the undulating, piled-up moun-