CHAPTER V. THE SUBTLE SERPENT
I
VARVARA PETROVNA rang the bell and threw herself into an easy chair by the window.
“Sit here, my dear.” She motioned Marya Timofyevna to a seat in the middle of the room, by a large round table. “Stepan Trofimovitch, what is the meaning of this? See, see, look at this woman, what is the meaning of it?”
“I … I …” faltered Stepan Trofimovitch.
But a footman came in.
“A cup of coffee at once, we must have it as quickly as possible! Keep the horses!”
“Mais, chère et excellente amie, dans quelle inquiétude …” Stepan Trofimovitch exclaimed in a dying voice.
“Ach! French! French! I can see at once that it’s the highest society,” cried Marya Timofyevna, clapping her hands, ecstatically preparing herself to listen to a conversation in French. Varvara Petrovna
