Poor Vjera saw in his face what was passing in his mind, but her own expression of sadness did not change.

On the contrary, since his last outbreak of triumphant satisfaction she had been more than usually depressed.

For a long time the Count did not again notice her low spirits, being absorbed in the contemplation of his own splendid future.

At last he seemed to recollect her presence at his side, glanced at her, made as though to say something, checked himself, and began humming snatches from an old opera.

But either his musical memory did not serve him, or his humour changed all at once, for he suddenly was silent again, and after glancing once more at Vjera's downcast face his own became very grave.
He had been brought back to present considerations, and he found himself in one of those dilemmas with which his genuine pride, his innocent and harmless vanity and his innate kindness constantly beset his life.