I happen to know from the most private sources (well, you may assume that Yulia Mihailovna later on, not in triumph but _almost_ in remorse--for a woman is incapable of _complete_ remorse--revealed part of it to me herself) that Andrey Antonovitch had gone into his wife's room in the middle of the previous night, past two o'clock in the morning, had waked her up, and had insisted on her listening to his "ultimatum." He demanded it so insistently that she was obliged to get up from her bed in indignation and curl-papers, and, sitting down on a couch, she had to listen, though with sarcastic disdain.

Only then she grasped for the first time how far gone her Andrey Antonovitch was, and was secretly horrified.

She ought to have thought what she was about and have been softened, but she concealed her horror and was more obstinate than ever.

Like every wife she had her own method of treating Andrey Antonovitch, which she had tried more than once already and with it driven him to frenzy.

Yulia Mihailovna's method was that of contemptuous silence, for one hour, two, a whole day and almost for three days and nights--silence whatever happened, whatever he said, whatever he did, even if he had clambered up to throw himself out of a three-story window--a method unendurable for a sensitive man! Whether Yulia Mihailovna meant to punish her husband for his blunders of the last few days and the jealous envy he, as the chief authority in the town, felt for her administrative abilities; whether she was indignant at his criticism of her behaviour with the young people and local society generally, and lack of comprehension of her subtle and far-sighted political aims; or was angry with his stupid and senseless jealousy of Pyotr Stepanovitch--however that may have been, she made up her mind not to be softened even now, in spite of its being three o'clock at night, and though Andrey Antonovitch was in a state of emotion such as she had never seen him in before.
Pacing up and down in all directions over the rugs of her boudoir, beside himself, he poured out everything, everything, quite disconnectedly, it's true, but everything that had been rankling in his heart, for--"it was outrageous." He began by saying that he was a laughing-stock to every one and "was being led by the nose." "Curse the expression," he squealed, at once catching her smile, "let it stand, it's true....