“It’s the cat that keeps me awake,” she thought, and turned her away. The cat fell softly on to the floor and, gently moving her bushy tail, leapt on to the stove. But now the maid, who always slept on the floor in Anna Fyódorovna’s room, came and spread the piece of felt that served her for a mattress, put out the candle, and lit the lamp in front of the icon. At last the maid began to snore, but sleep would not come to soothe Anna Fyódorovna’s excited imagination. The hussar’s face appeared to her when she closed her eyes, and she seemed to see it in the room in various forms when she opened her eyes and, by the dim light of the lamp, looked at the chest of drawers, the table, or a white dress that was hanging up. Now it seemed very hot on the feather bed, now her watch ticked unbearably on the little table and the maid snored unendurably through her nose. She woke her and ordered her not to snore. Again thoughts about her daughter, about the old and young Counts, and about the game of Préférence got curiously mixed in her head. Now she saw herself valse with the old Count, saw her own round, white shoulders, felt someone’s kisses on them, and then saw her daughter in the arms of the young Count. Oustúshka again began to snore.