At once
she felt giddy, even the cold, dampish sheets on her bed seemed to
smell of chipre.
Lydia sat down on the edge of her bed in her green neglige, listening
to the sounds around her. Outside, there was a continuous howling and
barking of dogs, now and then she could distinguish the croaking of
half-awakened crows in the park.
The clock struck eleven, then half-past, someone passed along the
corridor, Aganka cleared up in the dining-room, Mintz walked to and
fro in the drawing-room, then all became quiet.
Lydia Constantinovna went to the window and gazed out for a long
time. Then, quietly, she left her bedroom and crept down to Ivanov's
study. All around her it was dark, cold and silent as she passed
through the empty, spacious rooms. A forgotten candle still burnt
wanly in the drawing-room, and a rat ran out from under the table.
She was again plunged in darkness when she entered Ivanov's study,
and she was greeted by a smell of horse trappings and joiners' glue.
Ivanov was asleep on the sofa. He lay on his back, his arms extended;
the outlines of his body could just be discerned. Lydia sat down
quietly beside him and laid her hand on his breast. Ivanov sighed,
drew in his arms and raised his head quickly from the pillow:
"Who is there?"
"It is I, Sergius--me--Lida," answered Lydia Constantinovna in a
rapid whisper.
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