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 "The husband? Liza Merkalof's husband carries her plaid for her, and is always at her beck and call. But the real meaning of the affair no one cares to know. You know that in good society people don't speak and don't even think of certain details of the toilet; well, it is the same here."

Are you going to Rolandaki's fête?" asked Anna, to change the conversation.

"I don't think so," replied Betsy; and, not looking at her companion, she carefully poured the fragrant tea into little transparent cups. Then, having handed one to Anna, she rolled a cigarette, and, putting it into a silver holder, she began to smoke.

"You see, I am in a fortunate position," she began seriously, holding her cup in her hand. "I understand you, and I understand Liza. Liza is one of these naïve, childlike natures, who cannot distinguish between ill and good,—at least, she was so when she was young, and now she knows that this simplicity is becoming to her. Now perhaps she purposely fails to understand the distinction," said Betsy, with a sly smile. "But all the same, it becomes her. You see, it is quite possible to look on things from a tragic standpoint, and to get torment out of them; and it is possible to look on it simply, and even gayly. Possibly you are inclined to look on things too tragically."

"How I should like to know others as well as I know myself!" said Anna, with a serious and pensive look. "Am I worse than others, or better? Worse, I think."

"You are an enfant terrible, an enfant terrible" was Betsy's comment. "But here they are!"

CHAPTER XVIII

were heard, and a man's voice, then a woman's voice and laughter, and immediately after the expected guests came in: Safo Stoltz, and a young man called Vaska, whose face shone with exuberant health. It was evident that rich blood-making beef, burgundy, and truffles