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 She stayed at home all day long and racked her brain to think of other ways of meeting her son, and finally she decided to write directly to her husband. She had already begun her letter, when Lidia Ivanovna's reply was brought to her. The countess's previous silence had humbled and affronted her, but the note and all that she read between the lines so exasperated her,—this bitterness against her seemed so shocking when contrasted with her passionate, legitimate affection for her son, that she grew indignant against the others, and ceased to blame herself.

"What cruelty! What hypocrisy!" she said to herself. "All they want is to insult me and torment the child. I will not let them do so. She is worse than I am; at least, I do not lie."

She immediately decided to go on the morrow, which was Serozha's birthday, directly to her husband's house; she would bribe the servants, and would make any kind of an excuse, if only she might once see her son and put an end to the ugly network of lies with which they were surrounding the innocent child.

She went to a toy shop and purchased some toys, and thus she formed her plan of action: she would start early in the morning, at eight o'clock, before Alekseï Aleksandrovitch would probably be up; she would have the money in her hand all ready to bribe the Swiss and the valet to let her go up-stairs without raising her veil, under the pretext of laying on Serozha's bed some presents sent by his godfather. As to what she should say to her son, she could not form the least idea; she could not make any preparation for that.

The next morning, at eight o'clock, Anna got out of her hired carriage and rang the door-bell of her former-home.

"Go and see what is wanted! It's some lady," said Kapitonuitch, in loose coat and galoshes, as he looked out of the window and saw a lady closely veiled standing on the porch. The Swiss's assistant, a young man whom Anna did not know, had scarcely opened the door before Anna pushed her way in, and, drawing a