‘It’s my husband’s step, ... he has gone into his room,’ she whispered, and, moving hurriedly away, she crossed over to another armchair. Litvinov was getting up.... ‘What are you doing?’ she went on in the same whisper; ‘you must stay, he suspects you as it is. Or are you afraid of him?’ She did not take her eyes off the door. ‘Yes, it’s he; he will come in here directly. Tell me something, talk to me.’ Litvinov could not at once recover himself and was silent. ‘Aren’t you going to the theatre to-morrow?’ she uttered aloud. ‘They’re giving _Le Verre d’Eau_, an old-fashioned piece, and Plessy is awfully affected.... We’re as though we were in a perfect fever,’ she added, dropping her voice. ‘We can’t do anything like this; we must think things over well. I ought to warn you that all my money is in his hands; _mais j’ai mes bijoux_. We’ll go to Spain, would you like that?’ She raised her voice again. ‘Why is it all actresses get so fat? Madeleine Brohan for instance.... Do talk, don’t sit so silent. My head is going round. But you, you must not doubt me.... I will let you know where to come to-morrow. Only it was a mistake to have told that young lady.... _Ah, mais c’est charmant!_’ she cried suddenly and with a nervous laugh, she tore the lace edge of her handkerchief. ‘May I come in?’ asked Ratmirov from the other room. ‘Yes ... yes.’ The door opened, and in the doorway appeared the general. He scowled on seeing Litvinov; however, he bowed to them, that is to say, he bent the upper portion of his person. ‘I did not know you had a visitor,’ he said: ‘_je vous demande pardon de mon indiscrétion_. So you still find Baden entertaining, M’sieu--Litvinov?’ Ratmirov always uttered Litvinov’s surname with hesitation, every time, as though he had forgotten it, and could not at once recall it.... In this way, as well as by the lofty flourish of his hat in saluting him, he meant to insult his pride. ‘I am not bored here, _m’sieu le général_.’ ‘Really? Well, I find Baden fearfully boring. We are soon going away, are we not, Irina Pavlovna? _Assez de Bade comme ça._ By the way, I’ve won you five hundred francs to-day.’ Irina stretched out her hand coquettishly. ‘Where are they? Please let me have them for pin-money.’ ‘You shall have them, you shall have them.... You are going, M’sieu--Litvinov?’ ‘Yes, I am going, as you see.’ Ratmirov again bent his body. ‘Till we meet again!’ ‘Good-bye, Grigory Mihalitch,’ said Irina. ‘I will keep my promise.’ ‘What is that? May I be inquisitive?’ her husband queried. Irina smiled. ‘No, it was only ... something we’ve been talking of. _C’est à propos du voyage ... où il vous plaira._ You know--Stael’s book?’ ‘Ah! ah! to be sure, I know. Charming illustrations.’ Ratmirov seemed on the best of terms with his wife; he called her by her pet name in addressing her. XXII