"The first thing that struck him as he went into the entrance hall was a scent of patchouli, always distasteful to him; there were some high travelling-trunks standing there. The face of his groom, who ran out to meet him, seemed strange to him. Not stopping to analyse his impressions, he crossed the threshold of the drawing-room.... On his entrance there rose from the sofa a lady in a black silk dress with flounces, who, raising a cambric handkerchief to her pale face, made a few paces forward, bent her carefully dressed, perfumed head, and fell at his feet.... Then, only, he recognised her: this lady was his wife!
"He caught his breath.... He leaned against the wall.
"'_Théodore_, do not repulse me!' she said in French, and her voice cut to his heart like a knife.
"He looked at her senselessly, and yet he noticed involuntarily at once that she had grown both whiter and fatter.
"'_Théodore!_' she went on, from time to time lifting her eyes and discreetly wringing her marvellously beautiful fingers with their rosy, polished nails. '_Théodore_, I have wronged you, deeply wronged you; I will say more, I have sinned; but hear me; I am tortured by remorse, I have grown hateful to myself, I could endure my position no longer; how many times have I thought of turning to you, but I feared your anger; I resolved to break every tie with the past.... _Puis, j'ai été si malade_.... I have been so ill,' she added, and passed her hand over her brow and cheek. 'I took advantage of the widely-spread rumour of my death, I gave up everything; without resting day or night I hastened hither; I hesitated long to appear before you, my judge ... _paraître devant vous, mon juge_; but I resolved at last, remembering your constant goodness, to come to you; I found your address at Moscow. Believe me,' she went on, slowly getting up from the floor and sitting on the very edge of an armchair. 'I have often thought of death, and I should have found courage to take my life ... ah! life is a burden unbearable for me now!... but the thought of my daughter, my little Ada, stopped me. She is here, she is asleep in the next room, the poor child! She is tired--you shall see her; she at least has done you no wrong, and I am so unhappy, so unhappy!' cried Madame Lavretsky, and she melted into tears....