Throughout that difficult time, Alexei Alexandrovich had noticed that his society acquaintances, especially the women, took a special interest in him and his wife. He had noticed that all these acquaintances had trouble concealing their joy over something, the same joy he had seen in the lawyer’s eyes and now in the eyes of the footman. They were all as if delighted, as if they were getting somebody married. When meeting him, they would ask about his wife’s health with barely concealed joy.
The presence of Princess Tverskoy, both by the memories associated with her and because he generally disliked her, was unpleasant for Alexei Alexandrovich, and he went directly to the nursery. In the first nursery Seryozha, his chest leaning on the desk and his legs on the chair, was drawing something and merrily talking away. The English governess, who had replaced the Frenchwoman during Anna’s illness, was sitting by the boy crocheting
Alexei Alexandrovich stroked the boy’s hair with his hand, answered the governess’s question about his wife’s health, and asked what the doctor had said about the baby.
‘The doctor said there was nothing dangerous, sir, and prescribed baths.’
‘But she’s still suffering,’ said Alexei Alexandrovich, listening to the baby crying in the next room.
‘I think the wet nurse is no good, sir,’ the governess said resolutely.
‘What makes you think so?’ he asked, stopping.
‘That’s what happened with Countess Paul, sir. The baby was treated, but it turned out that it was simply hungry: the wet nurse had no milk, sir.’
Alexei Alexandrovich reflected and, after standing there for a few seconds, went through the other door. The little girl lay, her head thrown back, squirming in the wet nurse’s arms, and refused either to take the plump breast offered to her or to be silent, despite the double shushing of the wet nurse and the nanny leaning over her.
‘Still no better?’ said Alexei Alexandrovich.
‘She’s very restless,’ the nanny answered in a whisper.
‘Miss Edwards says the wet nurse may have no milk,’ he said.
‘I’ve been thinking so myself, Alexei Alexandrovich.’
‘Then why didn’t you say so?’
‘Who was I to say it to? Anna Arkadyevna’s still unwell,’ the nanny said, displeased.
The nanny was an old household servant. And in these simple words of hers Alexei Alexandrovich seemed to hear a hint at his situation.
The baby cried still louder, ran out of breath and choked. The nanny waved her hand, went over to her, took her from the wet nurse’s arms and began rocking her as she walked.
‘We must ask the doctor to examine the wet nurse,’ said Alexei Alexandrovich.
The healthy-looking, well-dressed wet nurse, afraid that she might be dismissed, muttered something under her breath and, hiding away her big breast, smiled contemptuously at any doubt of her milkiness. In that smile Alexei Alexandrovich also detected mockery of his situation.
‘Poor baby!’ said the nanny, hushing the baby and continuing to walk.
Alexei Alexandrovich sat down on a chair and with a suffering, downcast face watched the nanny pacing back and forth.
When the baby, finally quieted, was lowered into the deep crib, and the nanny straightened the pillow and backed away, Alexei Alexandrovich got up and, walking with difficulty on tiptoe, went over to look. For a minute he stood silently with the same downcast face, but suddenly a smile, moving the hair and skin of his forehead, showed on his face, and he left the room just as quietly.
In the dining room he rang and told the servant who came to send for the doctor again. He was vexed with his wife for not taking care of this lovely baby, and he did not want to go to her in this irritated mood, nor did he want to see Princess Betsy; but his wife might wonder why he did not come to her as usual, and therefore he made an effort and went to her bedroom. Going over the soft carpet to her door, he inadvertently heard a conversation he did not want to hear.
‘If he weren’t going away, I would understand your refusal and his as well. But your husband ought to be above that,’ Betsy was saying.
‘I don’t want it, not for my husband’s sake but for my own. Don’t say it!’ Anna’s agitated voice replied.
‘Yes, but you can’t not want to say goodbye to a man who shot himself on account of you ...’
‘That’s why I don’t want to.’
Alexei Alexandrovich stopped with a frightened and guilty expression and was about to go back unnoticed. But, considering that it would be unworthy of him, he turned again and, coughing, went towards the bedroom. The voices fell silent and he went in.
