Her life had become like the gate to an inn, at which every gay, wealthy, young man could knock and claim entrance. Clearly it was not a matter of selecting a congenial company, but of fitting into any kind of company so as not to die of ennui. Her "sacred art" had really thrown her into a mire, but her head was turned, and she did not notice her position. Neither the dirty faces of the porters nor the slimy, dilapidated stage properties, nor the din, stench, and noise of the hotels and inns, nor the obscene behavior of her admirers--none of these things produced a sobering effect. She did not even notice that she was always in the society of men only, and that there was a permanent barrier between her and the women of _established position._ The visit to Golovliovo sobered her for a moment. In the morning, almost immediately after her arrival, she began to feel uneasy. Highly impressionable, she quickly absorbed new sensations and quickly adapted herself to new situations. Consequently, as soon as she reached Golovliovo, she felt herself a "lady." She suddenly recalled that she had something of her own: her own home, her own graves. She became filled with a desire to see herself in her former surroundings, to breathe the air from which she had only recently fled. But her impression was immediately dispelled by contact with the reality she found there. Her experience in this was like that of a person who enters with a smile among friends he has not seen for a long time, and suddenly notices that everybody responds to his cordial greetings coldly. The nasty glances Yudushka cast at her figure reminded her that her position was questionable and not easy to change. When she remained alone, after the naïve questions of the Pogorelka servants, after the pious sighs of warning of the Pogorelka priest and his wife, after the fresh sermons of Yudushka, when she examined her impressions of the day at leisure, she became convinced that the former "lady" was gone forever and that from now on she was only an actress in a miserable provincial theatre, and the position of a Russian actress was not far removed from that of a street woman. Until now she had lived as if in a dream. She would go out half-naked in _Fair Helen,_ would appear intoxicated in _Pericola,_ would sing all sorts of indecencies in the _Episodes from the Life of the Duchess of Herolstein,_ and would even regret that it was not the custom to represent _la chose_ and _l'amour_ on the stage, imagining how enticingly her hips would quiver and how alluring her every movement would be. But it had never occurred to her to give earnest thought to what she was doing. She had only tried to make everything appear "charming" and _chic_ and at the same time please the army officers of the town regiment. But what it all meant, and what the sensation was that her quivering hips produced in the army officers, she did not consider. The army officers were