"Certainly. . . . Why not?"

Laevsky lay down on the sofa, and went on talking to the doctor for
a long time.

X

Three days after the picnic, Marya Konstantinovna unexpectedly
called on Nadyezhda Fyodorovna, and without greeting her or taking
off her hat, seized her by both hands, pressed them to her breast
and said in great excitement:

"My dear, I am deeply touched and moved: our dear kind-hearted
doctor told my Nikodim Alexandritch yesterday that your husband was
dead. Tell me, my dear . . . tell me, is it true?

"Yes, it's true; he is dead," answered Nadyezhda Fyodorovna.

"That is awful, awful, my dear! But there's no evil without some
compensation; your husband was no doubt a noble, wonderful, holy
man, and such are more needed in Heaven than on earth."

Every line and feature in Marya Konstantinovna's face began quivering
as though little needles were jumping up and down under her skin;
she gave an almond-oily smile and said, breathlessly, enthusiastically:

"And so you are free, my dear. You can hold your head high now, and
look people boldly in the face. Henceforth God and man will bless
your union with Ivan Andreitch. It's enchanting. I am trembling
with joy, I can find no words. My dear, I will give you away. . . .