their youngest son, Nicholas), and also because, as soon as a political subject was started by Nicholas Semyónovitch and the visitors, the desperate student—in his eagerness to show that he was not afraid of expressing his opinions to anyone—broke into the conversation. Then the visitor would cease talking, and Nicholas Semyónovitch would try to soothe the student.
They had dined at seven; and after dinner the friends sat on the veranda, refreshing themselves by sipping iced narzán with white wine, and conversing.
Their difference of opinion first showed itself on the question of elections: as to whether direct or secondary representation was better—and the discussion was growing heated when they were called to tea in the dining-room, which was carefully protected from the flies by nets. The conversation at tea was general, and directed to Marie, who could take no interest in it because her thoughts were absorbed by some symptoms of the derangement of Gógo’s digestive organs. They were talking about pictures, and Marie maintained that in decadent art there was a certain je ne sais quoi: which could not be denied. She was at that moment not thinking in the least about decadent art, but only repeating what she had often said before. As for the visitor, he did not care about it at all, but he had heard what was being said against decadence, and repeated it so naturally that no one could have guessed that neither decadence nor non-decadence concerned him in the least; and Nicholas Semyónovitch, looking at his wife, felt that she was dissatisfied about something, and that some unpleasantness might be expected—and, besides, it was very dull listening to what she was saying. He thought he must have heard it at least a hundred times.
Rich bronze lamps were lit inside the room, and lanterns outside. The children had been put to bed; Gógo having first been subjected to medical treatment.