Besides Big Volodya, Little Volodya, and Sofya Lvovna, there was a fourth person in the sledge⁠—Margarita Alexandrovna, or, as everyone called her, Rita, a cousin of Madame Yagitch⁠—a very pale girl over thirty, with black eyebrows and a pince-nez, who was forever smoking cigarettes, even in the bitterest frost, and who always had her knees and the front of her blouse covered with cigarette ash. She spoke through her nose, drawling every word, was of a cold temperament, could drink any amount of wine and liquor without being drunk, and used to tell scandalous anecdotes in a languid and tasteless way. At home she spent her days reading thick magazines, covering them with cigarette ash, or eating frozen apples.

“Sonia, give over fooling,” she said, drawling. “It’s really silly.”

As they drew near the city gates they went more slowly, and began to pass people and houses. Sofya Lvovna subsided, nestled up to her husband, and gave herself up to her thoughts. Little Volodya sat opposite. By now her lighthearted and cheerful thoughts were mingled with gloomy ones. She thought that the man sitting opposite knew that she loved him, and no doubt he believed the gossip that she married the Colonel par dépit