"One of the Fanes must be ill," she observes, "or they would certainly be here. I must find out what----" But Sophie interrupts her impatiently.
"Pour me out a cup of tea," she orders her.
The tea is cold and bitter from waiting so long for guests who do not arrive. Sophie finds it detestable, and reproaches Stasy therefor.
Stasy consoles herself for her friend's capricious injustice by taking two glasses of cordial, three sandwiches, and half a dozen little cakes.
Meanwhile, Sophie observes, with a yawn, "I cannot tell you how glad I am that no one came. People bore me so. I revel in my solitude. And to think that I must shortly resign it! I must call upon our ambassadress shortly."
In spite of her wonderful degree of aplomb, Anastasia at this point of the conversation is silent and looks rather confused.
"You saw her in the Bois lately," the Oblonsky continues, in a somewhat irritated tone.
"Yes; you pointed her out to me."
"Well, you must have noticed how stiffly she bowed. No wonder. She must have known how long I have been in Paris without calling upon her."
"I have always told you that you carry to excess your passion for solitude," Stasy chirps. "It is easy to go too far in such a preference."