CHAPTER XXV
When Alekseï entered the Countess Lidia Ivanovna's cozy little boudoir, decorated with portraits and old porcelains, he failed to find his friend.
She was changing her gown.
On a round table covered with a cloth stood a Chinese tea-service and a silver teapot with an alcohol lamp. Alekseï Aleksandrovitch glanced perfunctorily at the numberless paintings that adorned the room; then he sat down near a table and took up a copy of the New Testament which lay on it. The rustling of the countess's silk dress put his thoughts to flight.
"Well now! We can be a little more free from disturbance," said the countess, with a smile, gliding between the table and the divan. "We can talk while drinking our tea."
After several words, meant to prepare his mind, she sighed deeply, and, with a tinge of color in her cheeks, she put Anna's letter into his hands.
He read it, and sat long in silence.
"I do not feel that I have the right to refuse her," he said timidly, raising his eyes.
"My friend, you never can see evil anywhere."
"On the contrary, I see everything is evil. But would it be fair to...."
His face expressed indecision, desire for advice, for support, for guidance, in a question so beyond his comprehension.
"No," interrupted the Countess Lidia Ivanovna, "there are limits to all things. I understand immorality," she said, not with absolute sincerity, since she did not know what could induce women to be immoral, "but what I do not understand is cruelty toward any one! Toward you! How can she remain in the same city with you? One is never too old to learn, and I learn every day your grandeur and her baseness!"
"Who shall cast the first stone?" asked Alekseï Aleksandrovitch, evidently satisfied with the part he
