Left alone, Darya Alexandrovna, with a good housewife's eye,
scanned her room. All she had seen in entering the house and
walking through it, and all she saw now in her room, gave her an
impression of wealth and sumptuousness and of that modern
European luxury of which she had only read in English novels, but
had never seen in Russia and in the country. Everything was new
from the new French hangings on the walls to the carpet which
covered the whole floor. The bed had a spring mattress, and a
special sort of bolster and silk pillowcases on the little
pillows. The marble washstand, the dressing table, the little
sofa, the tables, the bronze clock on the chimney piece, the
window curtains, and the _portières_ were all new and expensive.

The smart maid, who came in to offer her services, with her hair
done up high, and a gown more fashionable than Dolly's, was as
new and expensive as the whole room. Darya Alexandrovna liked
her neatness, her deferential and obliging manners, but she felt
ill at ease with her. She felt ashamed of her seeing the patched
dressing jacket that had unluckily been packed by mistake for
her. She was ashamed of the very patches and darned places of
which she had been so proud at home. At home it had been so
clear that for six dressing jackets there would be needed
twenty-four yards of nainsook at sixteen pence the yard, which
was a matter of thirty shillings besides the cutting-out and
making, and these thirty shillings had been saved. But before
the maid she felt, if not exactly ashamed, at least
uncomfortable.