The General’s wife had visitors: the Governor and his wife; an old Princess, an ardent patriot; and an officer of the Guards⁠—the fiancé of his last unmarried daughter. His wife, a thin-lipped, cold-faced woman, sat at a low table, on which tea was laid, a silver teapot standing on the top of the samovar. She was speaking with affected sadness of her anxiety about her husband’s health, to the Governor’s wife⁠—a lady who gave herself the airs of a young woman.

“Every day fresh information brings to light conspiracies and all sorts of dreadful things.⁠ ⁠… And it all falls on Basil⁠—he has to decide everything.”

“Oh, don’t mention it!” said the Princess. “ Je deviens féroce quand je pense à cette maudite engeance! ” 322

“Yes, yes⁠ ⁠… it’s awful! Will you believe it? He works twelve hours a day, and with his weak heart, too. I really am afraid.⁠ ⁠…”