'Yes; that is my wish, Dimitri Pavlovitch. And will it be very hard for you? Very? Tell me.'
'I love my betrothed, Maria Nikolaevna, and to be separated from her is hard for me.'
'Ah! you're a heart of gold!' Maria Nikolaevna commented with a sigh. 'I promise not to torment you too much. Are you going?'
'It is late,' observed Sanin.
'And you want to rest after your journey, and your game of "fools" with my husband. Tell me, were you a great friend of Ippolit Sidorovitch, my husband?'
'We were educated at the same school.'
'And was he the same then?'
'The same as what?' inquired Sanin. Maria Nikolaevna burst out laughing, and laughed till she was red in the face; she put her handkerchief to her lips, rose from her chair, and swaying as though she were tired, went up to Sanin, and held out her hand to him.
He bowed over it, and went towards the door.
'Come early to-morrow--do you hear?' she called after him. He looked back as he went out of the room, and saw that she had again dropped into an easy-chair, and flung both arms behind her head. The loose sleeves of her tea-gown fell open almost to her shoulders, and it was impossible not to admit that the pose of the arms, that the whole figure, was enchantingly beautiful.