But Afanassy Matveyevitch was never destined to complete his ingenious, but unlucky guess.
Up to this moment the guests had all restrained themselves, and had managed, cleverly enough, to keep up an appearance of solid and judicial interest in the proceedings. But at the first sound, almost, of Afanassy's voice, a burst of uncontrollable laughter rose like a tempest from all parts of the room.
Maria Alexandrovna, forgetting all the laws of propriety in her fury, tried to rush at her unlucky consort; but she was held back by force, or, doubtless, she would have scratched out that gentleman's eyes.
Natalia Dimitrievna took advantage of the occasion to add a little, if only a little, drop more of poison to the bitter cup.
“But, dear Maria Alexandrovna,” she said, in the sweetest honied tones, “perhaps it may be that it really was so, as your husband suggests, and that you are actually under a strange delusion?”
“How! What was a delusion?” cried Maria Alexandrovna, not quite catching the remark.
“Why, my dear Maria, I was saying, mightn't it have been so, dear, after all? These sort of things do happen sometimes, you know!”
“What sort of things do happen, eh? What are you trying to do with me? What am I to make of you?”
“Why, perhaps, dear, you really did dream it all!”
“What? dream it! I dreamed it? And you dare suggest such a thing to me—straight to my face?”