Yet another story about flighty artisty girl getting married to a staid boring nice guy. The girl cheats on the guy and of course the guy being a good and kind takes it all in stride. And when she comes to her senses, the husband dies of diphtheria, of the nose all things… All I can say is that I was surprised the author didn’t kill off the wife like it was usual in stories in that era of cheating wives. Anna Karennina kills herself. Madame Bovary kills herself. Tess of the Urbanvilles gets hanged, and the like. I suppose that is the point of the story, Chekhov showing his humanist hand by not making the wife dying some terrible death in punishment for her adultery. A shame thought, the husband was the one who got the shaft.