“Dinner is ready,” the servant summoned Mashenka.

“Shall I go, or not?”

Mashenka brushed her hair, wiped her face with a wet towel, and went into the dining-room.  There they had already begun dinner.  At one end of the table sat Fedosya Vassilyevna with a stupid, solemn, serious face; at the other end Nikolay Sergeitch.  At the sides there were the visitors and the children.  The dishes were handed by two footmen in swallowtails and white gloves.  Every one knew that there was an upset in the house, that Madame Kushkin was in trouble, and every one was silent.  Nothing was heard but the sound of munching and the rattle of spoons on the plates.

The lady of the house, herself, was the first to speak.

“What is the third course?” she asked the footman in a weary, injured voice.

“Esturgeon a la russe,” answered the footman.

“I ordered that, Fenya,” Nikolay Sergeitch hastened to observe.  “I wanted some fish.  If you don’t like it, ma chere, don’t let them serve it.  I just ordered it. . . .”

Fedosya Vassilyevna did not like dishes that she had not ordered herself, and now her eyes filled with tears.

“Come, don’t let us agitate ourselves,” Mamikov, her household doctor, observed in a honeyed voice, just touching her arm, with a smile as honeyed.  “We are nervous enough as it is.  Let us forget the brooch!  Health is worth more than two thousand roubles!”

“It’s not the two thousand I regret,” answered the lady, and a big tear rolled down her cheek.  “It’s the fact itself that revolts me!  I cannot put up with thieves in my house.  I don’t regret it—­I regret nothing; but to steal from me is such ingratitude!  That’s how they repay me for my kindness. . . .”

They all looked into their plates, but Mashenka fancied after the lady’s words that every one was looking at her.  A lump rose in her throat; she began crying and put her handkerchief to her lips.

“Pardon,” she muttered.  “I can’t help it.  My head aches.  I’ll go away.”

And she got up from the table, scraping her chair awkwardly, and went out quickly, still more overcome with confusion.

“It’s beyond everything!” said Nikolay Sergeitch, frowning.  “What need was there to search her room?  How out of place it was!”

“I don’t say she took the brooch,” said Fedosya Vassilyevna, “but can you answer for her?  To tell the truth, I haven’t much confidence in these learned paupers.”

“It really was unsuitable, Fenya. . . .  Excuse me, Fenya, but you’ve no kind of legal right to make a search.”

“I know nothing about your laws.  All I know is that I’ve lost my brooch.  And I will find the brooch!” She brought her fork down on the plate with a clatter, and her eyes flashed angrily.  “And you eat your dinner, and don’t interfere in what doesn’t concern you!”

Nikolay Sergeitch dropped his eyes mildly and sighed.  Meanwhile Mashenka, reaching her room, flung herself on her bed.  She felt now neither alarm nor shame, but she felt an intense longing to go and slap the cheeks of this hard, arrogant, dull-witted, prosperous woman.