And as she falls asleep she thinks of her _mari d'elle_, what sort of a man he is, and how this affliction has come upon her. At one time he used to live at Tchernigov, and had a situation there as a book-keeper. As an ordinary obscure individual and not the _mari d'elle_, he had been quite endurable: he used to go to his work and take his salary, and all his whims and projects went no further than a new guitar, fashionable trousers, and an amber cigarette-holder. Since he had become "the husband of a celebrity" he was completely transformed. The singer remembered that when first she told him she was going on the stage he had made a fuss, been indignant, complained to her parents, turned her out of the house. She had been obliged to go on the stage without his permission. Afterwards, when he learned from the papers and from various people that she was earning big sums, he had 'forgiven her,' abandoned book-keeping, and become her hanger-on. The singer was overcome with amazement when she looked at her hanger-on: when and where had he managed to pick up new tastes, polish, and airs and graces? Where had he learned the taste of oysters and of different Burgundies? Who had taught him to dress and do his hair in the fashion and call her 'Nathalie' instead of Natasha?" "It's strange," thinks the singer. "In old days he used to get his salary and put it away, but now a hundred roubles a day is not enough for him. In old days he was afraid to talk before schoolboys for fear of saying something silly, and now he is overfamiliar even with princes . . . wretched, contemptible little creature!" But then the singer starts again; again there is the clang of the bell in the entry. The housemaid, scolding and angrily flopping with her slippers, goes to open the door. Again some one comes in and stamps like a horse. "He has come back!" thinks the singer. "When shall I be left in peace? It's revolting!" She is overcome by fury. "Wait a bit. . . . I'll teach you to get up these farces! You shall go away. I'll make you go away!" The singer leaps up and runs barefoot into the little drawing-room where her _mari_ usually sleeps. She comes at the moment when he is undressing, and carefully folding his clothes on a chair. "You went away!" she says, looking at him with bright eyes full of hatred. "What did you come back for?" Nikitin remains silent, and merely sniffs. "You went away! Kindly take yourself off this very minute! This very minute! Do you hear?" _Mari d'elle_ coughs and, without looking at his wife, takes off his braces. "If you don't go away, you insolent creature, I shall go," the singer goes on, stamping her bare foot, and looking at him with flashing eyes. "I shall go! Do you hear, insolent . . . worthless wretch, flunkey, out you go!" "You might have some shame before outsiders," mutters her husband . . . .