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He had even supposed that she, a worn-out woman no longer young

or good-looking, and in no way remarkable or interesting, merely

a good mother, ought from a sense of fairness to take an

indulgent view. It had turned out quite the other way.

"Oh, it's awful! oh dear, oh dear! awful!" Stepan Arkadyevitch

kept repeating to himself, and he could think of nothing to be

done. "And how well things were going up till now! how well we

got on! She was contented and happy in her children; I never

interfered with her in anything; I let her manage the children

and the house just as she liked. It's true it's bad her having

been a governess in our house. That's bad! There's something

common, vulgar, in flirting with one's governess. But what a

governess!" (He vividly recalled the roguish black eyes of Mlle.

Roland and her smile.) "But after all, while she was in the

house, I kept myself in hand. And the worst of it all is that

she's already ... it seems as if ill-luck would have it so! Oh,

oh! But what, what is to be done?"