into a winning and piteous look of fear. Her beautiful eyes glanced askance at her husband’s face, and her own assumed the timid, deprecating expression of a dog when it rapidly but feebly wags its drooping tail.
“ Mon Dieu, mon Dieu! ” she muttered, and lifting her dress with one hand she went up to her husband and kissed him on the forehead.
“Good night, Liza,” said he, rising and courteously kissing her hand as he would have done to a stranger.
VIII
The friends were silent. Neither cared to begin talking. Pierre continually glanced at Prince Andréy; Prince Andréy rubbed his forehead with his small hand.
“Let us go and have supper,” he said with a sigh, going to the door.
They entered the elegant, newly decorated, and luxurious dining room. Everything from the table napkins to the