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conversation of both. ‘This very same sentence about Kaulbach has been repeated to me by three different people to-day, as if by arrangement. That sentence, I don’t know why, seemed to please them very much.’ The conversation was broken by this remark, and it became necessary to find another topic.

      ‘Tell us something amusing but not malicious,’ said the ambassador’s wife, a great adept at that kind of elegant conversation which the English call ‘small-talk,’ turning to the attaché, who was also at a loss what subject to start.

      ‘People say that is very difficult, and that only what is malicious is amusing,’ he began with a smile. ‘But I will try, if you will give me a theme. The theme is everything. Once one has a theme, it is easy to embroider on it. I often think that the famous talkers of the last century would find it difficult to talk cleverly nowadays. We are all so tired of the clever things …’

      ‘That was said long ago,’ interrupted the ambassador’s wife, laughingly.

      The conversation had begun very prettily, but just because it was too pretty it languished again. They had to return to the one sure and never-failing resource — slander.

      ‘Don’t you think there is something Louis Quinze about Tushkevich?’ said the attaché, glancing at a handsome, fair-haired young man who stood by the tea-table.

      ‘Oh yes! He matches the drawing-room; that is why he comes here so often!’

      This conversation did not flag, since it hinted at what could not be spoken of in this room, namely, at the relations existing between Tushkevich and their hostess.

      Around the hostess and the samovar, the conversation, after flickering for some time in the same way between the three inevitable themes: the latest public news, the theatre, and criticism of one’s neighbour, also caught on when it got to the last of these themes — slander.

      ‘Have you heard? That that Maltyshcheva woman also — not the daughter but the mother — is having a diable rose [shocking pink] costume made for herself?’

      ‘You don’t mean to say so! How delicious!’

      ‘I wonder that she, with her common sense — for she is not stupid — does not see how ridiculous she makes herself.’

      Every one had something disparaging to say about the unfortunate Maltyshcheva, and the conversation began crackling merrily like a kindling bonfire.

      The Princess Betsy’s husband, a fat, good-natured man, an enthusiastic collector of engravings, hearing that his wife had visitors, entered the drawing-room before going to his club. Stepping silently on the thick carpet, he approached the Princess Myagkaya.

      ‘How did you like Nilsson?’ he inquired.

      ‘Oh, how can you steal on one like that? How you frightened me!’ said she in reply. ‘Please don’t talk to me about the opera — you know nothing of music. I had better descend to your level and talk about your majolica and engravings. Come now, tell me about the treasures you have picked up lately at the rag fair!’

      ‘Shall I show you? But you don’t understand them.’

      ‘Yes, let me see them. I have learnt from those — what is their name? — the bankers… . They have some splendid engravings. They showed them to us.’

      ‘What? Have you been to the Schuzburgs?’ asked the hostess from her place by the samovar.

      ‘I have, ma chère. They asked my husband and me to dinner, and I was told that the sauce alone at that dinner cost a thousand roubles,’ said the Princess Myagkaya loudly, feeling that everybody was listening. ‘And a very nasty sauce it was too, something green! We had to invite them, and I gave them a sauce that cost eighty-five kopeks and satisfied every one. I can’t afford thousand-rouble sauces.’

      ‘She is unique!’ said the hostess.

      ‘Wonderful!’ said some one else.

      The effect produced by the Princess Myagkaya’s words was always the same; and the secret of that effect lay in the fact that although she often — as at that moment — spoke not quite to the point, her words were simple and had a meaning. In the Society in which she lived words of that kind produced the effect of a most witty joke. The Princess Myagkaya did not understand why her words had such an effect, but was aware that they did and availed herself of it.

      As while she was speaking everybody listened to her and the conversation in the circle round the ambassador’s wife stopped, the hostess wished to make one circle of the whole company, and turning to the ambassador’s wife, said:

      ‘Will you really not have a cup of tea? You should come and join us here.’

      ‘No, we are very comfortable here,’ replied the ambassador’s wife smiling, and she continued the interrupted conversation.

      It was a very pleasant conversation. They were disparaging the Karenins, husband and wife.

      ‘Anna has changed very much since her trip to Moscow.

      ‘There is something strange about her,’ said a friend of Anna’s.

      ‘The chief change is that she has brought back with her the shadow of Alexis Vronsky,’ said the ambassador’s wife.

      ‘Well, why not? Grimm has a fable called “The Man Without a Shadow” — about a man who lost his shadow as a punishment for something or other. I never could understand why it was a punishment! But for a woman to be without a shadow can’t be pleasant.’

      ‘Yes, but a woman with a shadow generally ends badly,’ said Anna’s friend.

      ‘A murrain on your tongue!’ suddenly remarked the Princess Myagkaya, hearing these words. ‘Anna Karenina is a splendid woman. I don’t like her husband, but I am very fond of her.’

      ‘Why don’t you like her husband? He is such a remarkable man,’ said the ambassador’s wife. ‘My husband says there are few statesmen like him in Europe.’

      ‘My husband tells me the same, but I don’t believe it,’ replied the Princess Myagkaya. ‘If our husbands didn’t talk, we should see things as they really are; and it’s my opinion that Karenin is simply stupid. I say it in a whisper! Does this not make everything quite clear? Formerly, when I was told to consider him wise, I kept trying to, and thought I was stupid myself because I was unable to perceive his wisdom; but as soon as I said to myself, he’s stupid (only in a whisper of course), it all became quite clear! Don’t you think so?’

      ‘How malicious you are to-day!’

      ‘Not at all. I have no choice. One of us is stupid, and you know it’s impossible to say so of oneself.’

      ‘No one is satisfied with his position, but every one is satisfied with his wit,’ remarked the attaché, quoting some French lines.

      ‘That’s it, that’s just it,’ rejoined the Princess Myagkaya, turning quickly toward him. ‘But the point is, that I won’t abandon Anna to you. She is so excellent, so charming! What is she to do, if every one is in love with her and follows her about like a shadow?’

      ‘But I don’t even think of blaming her!’ Anna’s friend said, justifying herself.

      ‘If no one follows us about like a shadow, that does not prove that we have a right to judge her.’

      Having snubbed Anna’s friend handsomely, the Princess Myagkaya rose with the ambassador’s wife and joined those at the table, where there was a general conversation about the King of Prussia.

      ‘Whom were you backbiting there?’ asked Betsy.

      ‘The Karenins. The Princess was characterizing Karenin,’ replied the ambassador’s wife with a smile, seating herself at the table.

      ‘It’s a pity we did not hear it!’ said the hostess, glancing at the door. ‘Ah! Here you are at last!’ she added, smilingly addressing Vronsky as he entered the room.

      Vronsky

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