“Wife!” began Afanassy, solemnly, delighted, and proud to find that a need for him had sprung up for once in his life. “Wife, are you quite certain, now, that _you_ did not dream all this? You might so easily have fallen asleep and dreamed it, and then muddled it all up with what really happened, you know, and so——” But Afanassy Matveyevitch was never destined to complete his ingenious, but unlucky guess. Up to this moment the guests had all restrained themselves, and had managed, cleverly enough, to keep up an appearance of solid and judicial interest in the proceedings. But at the first sound, almost, of Afanassy’s voice, a burst of uncontrollable laughter rose like a tempest from all parts of the room. Maria Alexandrovna, forgetting all the laws of propriety in her fury, tried to rush at her unlucky consort; but she was held back by force, or, doubtless, she would have scratched out that gentleman’s eyes. Natalia Dimitrievna took advantage of the occasion to add a little, if only a little, drop more of poison to the bitter cup. “But, dear Maria Alexandrovna,” she said, in the sweetest honied tones, “perhaps it may be that it really _was_ so, as your husband suggests, and that you are actually under a strange delusion?” “How! What was a delusion?” cried Maria Alexandrovna, not quite catching the remark. “Why, my dear Maria, I was saying, _mightn’t_ it have been so, dear, after all? These sort of things _do_ happen sometimes, you know!” “_What_ sort of things do happen, eh? What are you trying to do with me? What am I to make of you?” “Why, perhaps, dear, you really _did_ dream it all!” “What? _dream_ it! _I_ dreamed it? And you dare suggest such a thing to me—straight to my face?” “Oh, why not? Perhaps it really was the case,” observed Felisata Michaelovna. “Ye—yes, quite so, very likely it act—ually _was_ the case,” muttered the old prince. “He, too—gracious Heaven!” cried poor Maria Alexandrovna, wringing her hands. “Dear me, how you do worry yourself, Maria Alexandrovna. You should remember that dreams are sent us by a good Providence. If Providence so wills it, there is no more to be said. Providence gives the word, and we can neither weep nor be angry at its dictum.” “Quite so, quite so. We can’t be a—angry about it,” observed the prince. “Look here; do you take me for a lunatic, or not?” said Maria Alexandrovna. She spoke with difficulty, so dreadfully was she panting with fury. It was more than flesh and blood could stand. She hurriedly grasped a chair, and fell fainting into it. There was a scene of great excitement.