Pyotr Dmitritch, angry with Count Alexey Petrovitch, his visitors,
and himself, was relieving his heart. He abused both the Count and
his visitors, and in his vexation with himself was ready to speak
out and to hold forth upon anything. After seeing his guest to his
room, he walked up and down the drawing-room, walked through the
dining-room, down the corridor, then into his study, then again
went into the drawing-room, and came into the bedroom. Olga Mihalovna
was lying on her back, with the bed-clothes only to her waist (by
now she felt hot), and with an angry face, watched the fly that was
thumping against the ceiling.

"Is some one staying the night?" she asked.

"Yegorov."

Pyotr Dmitritch undressed and got into his bed.

Without speaking, he lighted a cigarette, and he, too, fell to
watching the fly. There was an uneasy and forbidding look in his
eyes. Olga Mihalovna looked at his handsome profile for five minutes
in silence. It seemed to her for some reason that if her husband
were suddenly to turn facing her, and to say, "Olga, I am unhappy,"
she would cry or laugh, and she would be at ease. She fancied that
her legs were aching and her body was uncomfortable all over because
of the strain on her feelings.

"Pyotr, what are you thinking of?" she said.

"Oh, nothing . . ." her husband answered.