delight. She longed to dance and talk French.

She reflected joyfully that there was nothing terrible about her
infidelity. Her soul had no part in her infidelity; she still loved
Laevsky, and that was proved by the fact that she was jealous of
him, was sorry for him, and missed him when he was away. Kirilin
had turned out to be very mediocre, rather coarse though handsome;
everything was broken off with him already and there would never
be anything more. What had happened was over; it had nothing to do
with any one, and if Laevsky found it out he would not believe in
it.

There was only one bathing-house for ladies on the sea-front; men
bathed under the open sky. Going into the bathing-house, Nadyezhda
Fyodorovna found there an elderly lady, Marya Konstantinovna Bityugov,
and her daughter Katya, a schoolgirl of fifteen; both of them were
sitting on a bench undressing. Marya Konstantinovna was a good-natured,
enthusiastic, and genteel person, who talked in a drawling and
pathetic voice. She had been a governess until she was thirty-two,
and then had married Bityugov, a Government official--a bald
little man with his hair combed on to his temples and with a very
meek disposition. She was still in love with him, was jealous,
blushed at the word "love," and told every one she was very happy.

"My dear," she cried enthusiastically, on seeing Nadyezhda Fyodorovna,
assuming an expression which all her acquaintances called "almond-oily."
"My dear, how delightful that you have come! We'll bathe together
--that's enchanting!"

Olga quickly flung off her dress and chemise, and began undressing