"Yes, we have nothing to complain of, thank God," Olenka used to
say to her acquaintances. "I wish every one were as well off as
Vassitchka and I."

When Pustovalov went away to buy wood in the Mogilev district, she
missed him dreadfully, lay awake and cried. A young veterinary
surgeon in the army, called Smirnin, to whom they had let their
lodge, used sometimes to come in in the evening. He used to talk
to her and play cards with her, and this entertained her in her
husband's absence. She was particularly interested in what he told
her of his home life. He was married and had a little boy, but was
separated from his wife because she had been unfaithful to him, and
now he hated her and used to send her forty roubles a month for the
maintenance of their son. And hearing of all this, Olenka sighed
and shook her head. She was sorry for him.

"Well, God keep you," she used to say to him at parting, as she
lighted him down the stairs with a candle. "Thank you for coming
to cheer me up, and may the Mother of God give you health."

And she always expressed herself with the same sedateness and
dignity, the same reasonableness, in imitation of her husband. As
the veterinary surgeon was disappearing behind the door below, she
would say:

"You know, Vladimir Platonitch, you'd better make it up with your
wife. You should forgive her for the sake of your son. You may be
sure the little fellow understands."