"She disappeared, and I immediately ceased my demonstrations. An hour
later the old servant came to me and said that my wife was in a fit
of hysterics. I went to see her. She sobbed and laughed, incapable of
expressing anything, her whole body in a tremble. She was not shamming,
she was really sick. We sent for the doctor, and all night long I cared
for her. Toward daylight she grew calmer, and we became reconciled under
the influence of that feeling which we called 'love.' The next morning,
when, after the reconciliation, I confessed to her that I was jealous of
Troukhatchevsky, she was not at all embarrassed, and began to laugh in
the most natural way, so strange did the possibility of being led astray
by such a man appear to her.

"'With such a man can an honest woman entertain any feeling beyond the
pleasure of enjoying music with him? But if you like, I am ready
to never see him again, even on Sunday, although everybody has been
invited. Write him that I am indisposed, and that will end the
matter. Only one thing annoys me,--that any one could have thought him
dangerous. I am too proud not to detest such thoughts.'

"And she did not lie. She believed what she said. She hoped by her words
to provoke in herself a contempt for him, and thereby to defend herself.
But she did not succeed. Everything was directed against her, especially
that abominable music. So ended the quarrel, and on Sunday our guests
came, and Troukhatchevsky and my wife again played together."



CHAPTER XXIII.