“It’s your affair, it’s your affair, Jennechka,” meditatively uttered Tamara, looking down. “Perhaps you’re right, at that. Who knows? But tell me, how did you get away from the doctor?”
Jennka suddenly turned away from her, pressed her face against the angle of the window frame and suddenly burst into bitter, searing tears—the tears of wrath and vengefulness—and at the same time she spoke, gasping and quivering:
“Because ... because ... Because God has sent me especial luck: I am sick there where, in all probability, no doctor can see. And ours, besides that, is old and stupid...”
And suddenly, with some unusual effort of the will Jennka stopped her tears just as unexpectedly as she had started crying.
“Come to me, Tamarochka,” she said. “Of course, you won’t chatter too much?”
“Of course not.”
And they returned into Jennka’s room, both of them calm and restrained.
Simeon walked into the room. He, contrary to his usual brazenness, always bore himself with a shade of respect toward Jennka. Simeon said:
“Well, now, Jennechka, their Excellency has come to Vanda. Allow her to go away for ten minutes.”
Vanda, a blue-eyed, light blonde, with a large red mouth, with the typical face of a Lithuanian, looked imploringly at Jennka. If Jennka had said “No” she would have remained in the room, but Jennka did not say anything and even shut her eyes deliberately. Vanda obediently went out of the room.