declaimed, the painters sketched, the violoncellist played, the singers sang; and invariably half an hour before midnight the dining-room door opened, and Duimoff said with a smile —
“Come, gentlemen, supper is ready.”
As before, Olga Ivanovna sought celebrities, found them, and, insatiable, sought for more. As before, she returned home late. But Duimoff, no longer sleeping as of old, sat in his study and worked. He went to bed at three, and rose at eight.
Once as she stood before the pier-glass dressing for the theatre, Duimoff, in evening dress and a white tie, came into the room. He smiled kindly, with his old smile, and looked, his wife joyfully in the face. His face shone.
“I have just defended my dissertation,” he said. He sat down and stroked his leg.
“Your dissertation?” said Olga Ivanovna.
“Yes,” he laughed. He stretched forward so as to see in the mirror the face of his wife, who continued to stand with her back to him and dress her hair, “Yes,” he repeated. “Do you know what? I expect to be offered a privat-docentship in general pathology. That is something.”
It was plain from his radiant face that had Olga Ivanovna shared his joy and triumph he would have forgiven and forgotten everything. But “privat-docentship” and “general pathology” had no meaning
