The Diary of a Superfluous Man, and Other Stories

There was no great friendship between him and Akím, but no hostility between them was apparent; Akím paid no great attention to him, and knew nothing about him, except that he was an intelligent young fellow, who had started out boldly. He did not suspect Avdótya's real feelings, and continued to trust her as before.

Thus passed two years more.

Then, one summer day, before dinner, about one o'clock, Lizavéta Prókhorovna, who precisely during the course of those two years had somehow suddenly grown wrinkled and sallow, despite all sorts of massage, rouge, and powder, – Lizavéta Prókhorovna, with her lap-dog and her folding parasol, strolled forth for a walk in her neat little German park. Lightly rustling her starched gown, she was walking with mincing steps along the sanded path, between two rows of dahlias drawn up in military array, when suddenly she was overtaken by our old acquaintance, Kiríllovna, who respectfully announced that a certain merchant from B*** desired to see her on a very important matter. Kiríllovna, as of yore, enjoyed the mistress's favour (in reality, she managed the estate of Madame Kuntze), and some time previously had received permission to wear a white mob-cap, which imparted still more harshness to the thin features of her swarthy face.

"A merchant?" – inquired the lady. "What does he want?"

"I don't know, ma'am, what he wants," – replied Kiríllovna in a wheedling voice; – "but, apparently, he wishes to purchase something from you, ma'am."

Lizavéta Prókhorovna returned to the drawing-room, seated herself in her customary place, an arm-chair with a canopy, over which ivy meandered prettily, and ordered the merchant from B*** to be summoned.

Naúm entered, made his bow, and halted at the door.

"I have heard that you wish to buy something from me," – began Lizavéta Prókhorovna, and thought to herself the while: – "What a handsome man this merchant is!"

"Exactly so, ma'am."

"And precisely what is it?"

"Will you not deign to sell your inn?"

"What inn?"

"Why, the one which stands on the highway, not far from here."

"But that inn does not belong to me. That is Akím's inn."

"Why is n't it yours? It stands on your land, ma'am."

"Assuming that the land is mine … bought in my name; still the inn is his."

"Just so, ma'am. So then, won't you sell it to us, ma'am?"

"I am to sell it?"

"Just so, ma'am. And we would pay a good price for it."

Lizavéta Prókhorovna maintained silence for a while.

"Really, this is strange," – she began again; "what are you saying? But how much would you give?" – she added. – "That is to say, I am not asking for myself, but for Akím."

"Why, with all the buildings and, ma'am, dependencies, ma'am … well … and, of course, with the land attached to the inn, we would give two thousand rubles, ma'am."

"Two thousand rubles! That 's very little," – replied Lizavéta Prókhorovna.

"That 's the proper price, ma'am."

"But, have you talked it over with Akím?"

"Why should we talk with him, ma'am? The inn is yours, so we have thought best to discuss it with you, ma'am."

"But I have already told you … really, this is astonishing! How is it that you do not understand me?"

"Why don't we understand, ma'am? We do."

Lizavéta Prókhorovna looked at Naúm, Naúm looked at Lizavéta Prókhorovna.

"How is it to be, then, ma'am?" – he began: – "what proposal have you to make on your side, that is to say, ma'am?"

"On my side …" Lizavéta Prókhorovna fidgeted about in her easy-chair. – "In the first place, I tell you that two thousand is not enough, and in the second place …"

"We 'll add a hundred, if you like."

Lizavéta Prókhorovna rose.

"I see that you are talking at cross-purposes, and I have already told you that I cannot and will not sell that inn. I cannot … that is to say, I will not."

Naúm smiled and made no reply for a while.

"Well, as you like, ma'am …" he remarked, with a slight shrug of the shoulders; – "I will bid you good-day, ma'am." – And he made his bow, and grasped the door-handle.

Lizavéta Prókhorovna turned toward him.

"However…" she said, with barely perceptible hesitation, – "you need not go just yet." – She rang the bell; Kiríllovna made her appearance from the boudoir.

"Kiríllovna, order the servants to give the merchant tea. – I will see you later on," – she added, with a slight inclination of her head.

Naúm bowed again, and left the room in company with Kiríllovna.

Lizavéta Prókhorovna paced up and down the room a couple of times, then rang the bell again. This time a page entered. She ordered him to summon Kiríllovna. In a few moments Kiríllovna entered, with barely a squeak of her new goat's-leather shoes.

"Didst thou hear," – began Lizavéta Prókhorovna, with a constrained smile, – "what that merchant is proposing to me? Such a queer man, really!"

"No, ma'am, I did n't hear… What is it, ma'am?" – And Kiríllovna slightly narrowed her little, black, Kalmýk eyes.

"He wants to buy Akím's inn from me."

"And what of that, ma'am?"

"Why, seest thou … But how about Akím? I have given it to Akím."

"And, good gracious, my lady, what is it you are pleased to say? Is n't that inn yours? Are n't we your property, pray? And everything we have, – is n't that also the property of the mistress?"

"Mercy me, what 's that thou 'rt saying, Kiríllovna?" – Lizavéta Prókhorovna got out her batiste handkerchief and nervously blew her nose. – "Akím bought that inn out of his own money."

"Out of his own money? And where did he get that money? – Was n't it through your kindness? And, then, see how long he has enjoyed the use of the land… Surely, all this is through your kindness. And do you think, madam, that even so he will not have more money left? Why, he 's richer than you are, as God is my witness, ma'am!"

"All that is so, of course, but, nevertheless, I cannot… How am I to sell that inn?"

"But why not sell it, ma'am?" – went on Kiríllovna. – "Luckily, a purchaser has turned up. Permit me to inquire, ma'am, how much does he offer you?"

"Over two thousand rubles," – said Lizavéta Prókhorovna, softly.

"He 'll give more, madam, if he offers two thousand at the first word. And you can settle with Akím afterward; you can reduce his quit-rent, I suppose. – He will still be grateful."

"Of course, his quit-rent must be reduced. But no, Kiríllovna; how can I sell?.." And Lizavéta Prókhorovna paced up and down the room… "No, it is impossible; it is n't right;… no; please say no more to me about it … or I shall get angry…"

But in spite of the prohibition of the excited Lizavéta Prókhorovna, Kiríllovna continued to talk, and half an hour later she returned to Naúm, whom she had left in the butler's pantry with the samovár.

"What have you to tell me, my most respected?" – said Naúm, foppishly turning his empty cup upside down on his saucer.

"This is what I have to tell you," – returned Kiríllovna: – "that you are to go to the mistress; she bids you come."

"I obey, ma'am," – replied Naúm, rising, and followed Kiríllovna to the drawing-room.

The door closed behind them… When, at last, that door opened again and Naúm backed out of it bowing, the matter was already settled; Akím's inn belonged to him; he had acquired it for two thousand eight hundred rubles in bank-bills.⁴² They had decided to complete the deed of sale as promptly as possible, and not to announce the sale until that was accomplished; Lizavéta Prókhorovna had received one hundred rubles as deposit, and two hundred rubles went to Kiríllovna as commission.

"I have got it at a bargain," – thought Naúm, as he climbed into his cart; "I 'm glad it turned out well."

At that very time, when the bargain which we have described was being effected at the manor-house, Akím was sitting alone on the wall-bench under the window, in his own room, and stroking his beard with an air of displeasure… We have stated above that he did not suspect his wife's fondness for Naúm, although kind persons had, more than once, hinted to him that it was high time for him to listen to reason; of course, he himself was sometimes able to observe that his housewife, for some time past, had become more restive; but then, all the world knows that the female sex is vain and capricious. Even when it really seemed to him that something was wrong, he merely waved it from him; he did not wish, as the saying is, to raise a row; his good-nature had not diminished with the years, and, moreover, indolence was making itself felt. But on that day he was very much out of sorts; on the previous evening he had unexpectedly overheard on the street a conversation between his maid-servant and another woman, one of his neighbours…

The woman had asked his maid-servant why she had not run in to see her on the evening of the holiday. "I was expecting thee," she said.

"Why, I would have come," – replied the maid-servant, – "but, shameful to say, I caught the mistress at her capers … bad luck to her!"

"Thou didst catch her …" repeated the peasant-wife in a peculiarly-drawling tone, propping her cheek on her hand. – "And where didst thou catch her, my mother?"

"Why, behind the hemp-patches – the priest's hemp-patches. The mistress, seest thou, had gone out to the hemp-patches to meet that fellow of hers, that Naúm, and I could n't see in the dark, whether because of the moonlight, or what not, the Lord knows, and so I ran right against them."

"Thou didst run against them," – repeated the peasant-wife again. – "Well, and what was she doing, my mother? Was she standing with him?"

"She was standing, right enough. He was standing and she was standing. She caught sight of me, and says she: 'Whither art thou running to? Take thyself off home.' So I went."

"Thou wentest." – The peasant-wife was silent for a space. – "Well, good-bye, Fetíniushka," – she said, and went her way.

This conversation had produced an unpleasant effect on Akím. His love for Avdótya had already grown cold, but, nevertheless, the maid-servant's words displeased him. And she had told the truth: as a matter of fact, Avdótya had gone out that evening to meet Naúm, who had waited for her in the dense shadow which fell upon the road from the tall and motionless hemp-patch. The dew had drenched its every stalk from top to bottom; the scent, powerful to the point of oppressiveness, lay all around. The moon had only just risen, huge and crimson, in the dim and the blackish mist. Naúm had heard Avdótya's hasty footsteps from afar, and had advanced to meet her. She reached him all pale with running; the moon shone directly in her face.

"Well, how now; hast thou brought it?" – he asked her.

"Yes, I have," – she replied in an irresolute tone: – "but, Naúm Ivánovitch, what …"

"Give it here, if thou hast brought it," – he interrupted her, stretching out his hand.

She drew from beneath her kerchief on her neck some sort of packet. Naúm instantly grasped it and thrust it into his breast.

"Naúm Ivánitch," – enunciated Avdótya, slowly, and without taking her eyes from him… "Okh, Naúm Ivánitch, I am ruining my soul for thee…"

At that moment the maid-servant had come upon them.

So, then, Akím was sitting on the wall-bench and stroking his beard with his dissatisfaction. Avdótya kept entering the house and leaving it. He merely followed her with his eyes. At last she entered yet again, and taking a warm wadded jacket from the little room, she was already crossing the threshold; but he could endure it no longer, and began to talk, as though to himself:

"I wonder," – he began, – "what makes these women-folks always so fidgety? That they should sit still in one spot is something that can't be demanded of them. That 's no affair of theirs. But what they do love is to be running off somewhere or other, morning or evening. – Yes."

Avdótya heard her husband's speech out to the end without changing her attitude; only, at the word "evening," she moved her head a mere trifle, and seemed to become thoughtful.

"Well, Semyónitch," – she said at last, with irritation, – "'t is well known that when thou beginnest to talk, why…"

She waved her hand and departed, slamming the door behind her. Avdótya did not, in fact, hold Akím's eloquence in high esteem, and it sometimes happened, when he undertook of an evening to argue with the travellers, or began to tell stories, she would yawn quietly or walk out of the room. Akím stared at the closed door… "When thou beginnest to talk," he repeated in an undertone … "that 's exactly it, that I have talked very little with thee… And who art thou? My equal, and, moreover …" And he rose, meditated, and dealt himself a blow on the nape of his neck with his clenched fist…

A few days passed after this day in a decidedly queer manner. Akím kept on staring at his wife, as though he were preparing to say something to her; and she, on her side, darted suspicious glances at him; moreover, both of them maintained a constrained silence; this silence, however, was generally broken by some snappish remark from Akím about some neglect in the housekeeping, or on the subject of women in general; Avdótya, for the most part, did not answer him with a single word. But, despite all Akím's good-natured weakness, matters would infallibly have come to a decisive explanation between him and Avdótya had it not been for the fact that, at last, an incident occurred, after which all explanations would have been superfluous.

Namely, one morning, Akím and his wife were just preparing to take a light meal after the noon hour (there was not a single traveller in the inn, after the summer labours), when suddenly a small cart rumbled energetically along the road, and drew up at the porch. Akím glanced through the small window, frowned, and dropped his eyes; from the cart, without haste, Naúm alighted. Avdótya did not see him, but when his voice resounded in the anteroom, the spoon trembled weakly in her hand. He ordered the hired man to put his horse in the yard. At last the door flew wide open, and he entered the room.

"Morning," – he said, and doffed his cap.

"Morning," – repeated Akím through his teeth. – "Whence has God brought thee?"

"From the neighbourhood," – returned the other, seating himself on the wall-bench. – "I come from the lady-mistress."

"From the mistress," – said Akím, still not rising from his seat. – "On business, pray?"

"Yes, on business. Avdótya Aréfyevna, our respects to you."

"Good morning, Naúm," – she replied.

All remained silent for a space.

"What have you there – some sort of porridge, I suppose?" – began Naúm…

"Yes, porridge," – retorted Akím, and suddenly paled: – "but it is n't for thee."

Naúm darted a glance of astonishment at Akím.

"Why is n't it for me?"

"Why, just because it is n't for thee." – Akím's eyes began to flash, and he smote the table with his fist. – "There is nothing in my house for thee, dost hear me?"

"What ails thee, Semyónitch, what ails thee? What 's the matter with thee?"

"There 's nothing the matter with me, but I 'm tired of thee, Naúm Ivánitch, that 's what." – The old man rose to his feet, trembling all over. – "Thou hast taken to haunting my house altogether too much, that 's what."

Naúm also rose to his feet.

"Thou hast gone crazy, brother, I do believe," – he said with a smile. – "Avdótya Aréfyevna, what 's the matter with him?"…

"I tell thee," – yelled Akím, in a quivering voice, – "get out. Dost hear me?.. What hast thou to do with Avdótya Aréfyevna?.. Begone, I tell thee! Dost hear me?"

"What 's that thou art saying to me?" – inquired Naúm, significantly.

"Take thyself away from here; that 's what I 'm saying to thee. There is God, and there is the threshold … dost understand? or 't will be the worse for thee!"

Naúm strode forward.

"Good heavens, don't fight, my dear little doves," – stammered Avdótya, who until then had remained sitting motionless at the table…

Naúm cast a glance at her.

"Don't worry, Avdótya Aréfyevna, why should we fight! Ek-sta, brother," – he continued, addressing Akím: – "thou hast deafened me with thy yells. Really. What an insolent fellow thou art! Did any one ever hear of such a thing as expelling a man from another man's house," – added Naúm, with deliberate enunciation: – "and the master of the house, into the bargain?"

"What dost thou mean by another man's house?" – muttered Akím. – "What master of the house?"

"Why, me, for example."

And Naúm screwed up his eyes, and displayed his white teeth in a grin.

"Thee, forsooth? Ain't I the master of the house?"

"What a stupid fellow thou art, my good fellow. – I am the master of the house, I tell thee."

Akím opened his eyes to their widest.

"What nonsense is that thou art prating, as though thou hadst eaten mad-wort?" – he said at last. – "How the devil dost thou come to be the master?"

"Well, what 's the use of talking to thee," – shouted Naúm, impatiently. – "Dost see this document," – he added, jerking out of his pocket a sheet of stamped paper folded in four: – "dost see it? This is a deed of sale, understand, a deed of sale for thy land, and for the inn; I have bought them from the landed proprietress, Lizavéta Prókhorovna. We signed the deed of sale yesterday, in B*** – consequently, I am the master here, not thou. Gather up thy duds this very day," – he added, putting the paper back in his pocket; – "and let there be not a sign of thee here by to-morrow; hearest thou?"

Akím stood as though he had been struck by lightning.

"Brigand!" – he moaned at last; – "the brigand… Hey, Fédka, Mítka, wife, wife, seize him, seize him – hold him!"

He had completely lost his wits.

"Look out, look out," – ejaculated Naúm, menacingly: – "look out, old man, don't play the fool…"

"But beat him, beat him, wife!" – Akím kept repeating in a tearful voice, vainly and impotently trying to leave his place. – "The soul-ruiner, the brigand… She was n't enough for thee … thou wantest to take my house away from me also, and everything… But no, stay … that cannot be… I will go myself. I will tell her myself … how … but why sell?.. Stop … stop…"

And he rushed hatless into the street.

"Whither art thou running, Akím Ivánitch, whither art thou running, dear little father?" – cried the maid-servant Fetínya, who collided with him in the doorway.

"To the mistress! let me go! To the mistress…" roared Akím, and catching sight of Naúm's cart, which the servants had not yet had time to put in the stable-yard, he sprang into it, seized the reins, and lashing the horse with all his might, he set off at a gallop to the lady's manor-house.

"Dear little mother, Lizavéta Prókhorovna," – he kept repeating to himself all the way, – "why such unkindness? I have shown zeal, methinks!"

And, in the meantime, he kept on beating the horse. Those who met him drew aside and gazed long after him.

In a quarter of an hour Akím had reached Lizavéta Prókhorovna's manor, had dashed up to the porch, had leaped from the cart, and burst straight into the anteroom.

"What dost thou want?" – muttered the startled footman, who was sweetly dozing on the locker.

"The mistress – I must see the mistress," vociferated Akím loudly.

The lackey was astounded.

"Has anything happened?" – he began.

"Nothing has happened, but I must see the mistress."

"What, what?" – said the lackey, more and more astounded, straightening himself up.

Akím recovered himself… It was as though he had been drenched with cold water.

"Announce to the mistress, Piótr Evgráfitch," – he said, with a low obeisance, – "that Akím wishes to see her…"

"Good… I will go … I will announce thee … but evidently thou art drunk. Wait," – grumbled the lackey, and withdrew.

Akím dropped his eyes and became confused, as it were… His boldness had swiftly abandoned him from the very moment he had entered the anteroom.

Lizavéta Prókhorovna was also disconcerted when Akím's arrival was announced to her. She immediately gave orders that Kiríllovna should be called to her in her boudoir.

"I cannot receive him," – she said hurriedly, as soon as the latter made her appearance; – "I cannot possibly do it. What can I say to him? Did n't I tell thee that he would be sure to come and would complain?" – she added, with vexation and agitation; – "I said so…"

"Why should you receive him, ma'am?" – calmly replied Kiríllovna; – "that is not necessary, ma'am. Why should you disturb yourself, pray?"

"But what am I to do?"

"If you will permit me, I will talk with him."

Lizavéta Prókhorovna raised her head.

"Pray, do me the favour, Kiríllovna. Do talk with him. Do thou tell him … there – well, that I found it necessary … and, moreover, that I will make it up to him … well, there now, thou knowest what to say. Pray, do, Kiríllovna."

"Please do not fret, madam," – returned Kiríllovna, and withdrew, with squeaking shoes.

A quarter of an hour had not elapsed when their squeaking became audible again, and Kiríllovna entered the boudoir with the same composed expression on her face, with the same crafty intelligence in her eyes.

"Well," – inquired her mistress, – "how about Akím?"

"'T is all right, ma'am. He says, ma'am, that everything is in your power, he submits himself wholly to the will of your Graciousness, and if only you keep well and prosperous, he will forever be satisfied with his lot."

"And he made no complaint?"

"None whatever, ma'am. What was there for him to complain about?"

"But why did he come, then?" – said Lizavéta Prókhorovna, not without some surprise.

"Why, he came to ask, ma'am, until he receives compensation, whether you will not be so gracious as to remit his quit-rent for the coming year, that is to say …"

"Of course I will! I will remit it," – put in Lizavéta Prókhorovna, with vivacity; – "of course. And, tell him, in general terms, that I will reward him. Well, I thank thee, Kiríllovna. And he is a good peasant, I see. Stay," – she added: – "here, give him this from me." – And she took out of her work-table a three-ruble bill. – "Here, take this and give it to him."

"I obey, ma'am," – replied Kiríllovna, and coolly returning to her own room, she coolly locked up the bank-bill in an iron-bound casket which stood by the head of her bed; she kept in it all her ready money, and the amount was not small.

Kiríllovna by her report had soothed her lady, but the conversation between her and Akím had, in reality, not been precisely as she represented it, but to wit: she had ordered him to be summoned to her in the maids' hall. At first he refused to go to her, declaring that he did not wish to see Kiríllovna, but Lizavéta Prókhorovna herself; nevertheless, at last, he submitted, and wended his way through the back door to Kiríllovna. He found her alone. On entering the room he came to a halt at once, leaned against the wall near the door, and made an effort to speak … and could not.

Kiríllovna stared intently at him.

"Do you wish to see the mistress, Akím Semyónitch?" – she began.

He merely nodded his head.

"That is impossible, Akím Semyónitch. And what is the use? What is done can't be undone, and you will only worry her. She cannot receive you now, Akím Semyónitch."

"She cannot," – he repeated, and paused for a space. – "Then how is it to be," – he said at last; – "that means that I must lose my house?"

"Hearken, Akím Semyónitch. I know that you have always been a reasonable man. This is the mistress's will. And it cannot be changed. You cannot alter it. There is nothing for you and me to discuss, for it will lead to no result. Is n't that so?"

Akím put his hands behind his back.

"But you had better consider," – went on Kiríllovna, – "whether you ought not to ask the mistress to remit your quit-rent, had n't you?.."

"That means that I must lose the house," – repeated Akím, in the same tone as before.

"Akím Semyónitch, I 've told you already 't is impossible to change that. You know that yourself even better than I do."

"Yes. But tell me, at any rate, how much my inn sold for?"

"I don't know that, Akím Semyónitch; I can't tell you… But why do you stand there?" – she added. – "Sit down…"

"I 'll stand as I am, ma'am. I 'm a peasant. I thank you humbly."

"Why do you say that you are a peasant, Akím Semyónitch? You are the same as a merchant; you cannot be compared even with the house-serfs; why do you say that? Don't decry yourself without cause. Won't you have some tea?"

"No, thanks; I don't require it. And so my dear little house has become your property," – he added, quitting the wall. – "Thanks for that, also. I will bid you good day, my little madam."

Thereupon he wheeled round, and left the room. Kiríllovna smoothed down her apron, and betook herself to her mistress.

"So it appears that I actually have become a merchant," – said Akím to himself, as he paused in thought before the gate. – "A fine merchant!" He waved his hand and laughed a bitter laugh. – "Well, I might as well go home!"

And utterly oblivious of Naúm's horse, which he had driven thither, he trudged along the road to the inn. Before he had covered the first verst, he heard the rattle of a cart alongside of him.

"Akím, Akím Semyónitch!" – some one called to him.

He raised his eyes and beheld his acquaintance, the chanter of the parish church, Efrém, nicknamed "The Mole," a small, round-shouldered man, with a sharp-pointed little nose, and purblind eyes. He was sitting in a rickety little cart on a whisp of straw, with his breast leaning on the driver's seat.

"Art thou on thy way home, pray?" – he asked Akím.

Akím halted.

"Yes."

"I 'll drive you there, – shall I?"

"All right, do."

Efrém moved aside, and Akím clambered into the cart. Efrém, who was jolly with drink, it appeared, set to lashing his miserable little nag with the ends of his rope reins; the horse advanced at a weary trot, incessantly twitching her unbridled muzzle.

They drove about a verst, without saying one word to each other. Akím sat with bowed head, and Efrém merely mumbled something to himself, now stimulating the horse to greater speed, now reining it in.

"Whither hast thou been without a hat, Semyónitch?" – he suddenly asked Akím, and, without waiting for a reply, he went on in an undertone: – "thou hast left it in a nice little dram-shop, that 's what. Thou 'rt a tippler; I know thee, and I love thee because thou art a tippler – 't was high time, long ago, to place thee under ecclesiastical censure, God is my witness; because 't is a bad business… Hurrah!" – he shouted suddenly, at the top of his lungs, – "hurrah! hurrah!"

"Halt! halt!" – rang out a woman's voice close at hand. – "Halt!"

Akím glanced round. Across the fields, in the direction of the cart, a woman was running, so pale and dishevelled that he did not recognise her at first.

"Halt, halt!" – she moaned again, panting and waving her arms.

Akím shuddered: it was his wife.

He seized the reins.

"And why should we halt?" – muttered Efrém; – "why should we halt for a female? Get u-uup!"

But Akím jerked the horse abruptly on its haunches.

At that moment Avdótya reached the road, and fairly tumbled headlong, face downward, in the dust.

"Dear little father, Akím Semyónitch," – she shrieked; – "he has actually turned me out of doors!"

Akím gazed at her, and did not move, but merely drew the reins still more taut.

"Hurrah!" – cried Efrém again.

"And so he has turned thee out?" – said Akím.

"He has, dear little father, my dear little dove," replied Avdótya, sobbing. – "He has turned me out, dear little father. 'The house is mine now,' says he; 'so get out,' says he."

"Capital, that 's just fine … capital!" – remarked Efrém.

"And thou wert counting on remaining, I suppose?" – said Akím, bitterly, as he continued to sit in the cart.

"Remain, indeed! Yes, dear little father," – put in Avdótya, who had raised herself on her knees, and again beat her brow against the ground; – "for thou dost not know, seest thou, I… Kill me, Akím Semyónitch, kill me here, on the spot…"

"Why should I beat thee, Aréfyevna!" – replied Akím, dejectedly: – "thou hast vanquished thyself! what more is there to say?"

"But what wilt thou think, Akím Semyónitch… Why, the money … was thy money… It is gone, thy money… For I took it, accursed that I am, I got it from the cellar… I gave it all to that man, that villain, that Naúm, accursed creature that I am!.. And why didst thou tell me where thou hadst hidden thy money, wretched being that I am!.. For he bought the inn with thy money … the villain…"

Sobs drowned her voice.

Akím clutched his head with both hands.

"What!" – he screamed at last; – "and so all the money too … the money, and the inn, thou hast… Ah! thou hast got it from the cellar … from the cellar… Yes, I will kill thee, thou brood of vipers!.."

And he leaped from the cart…

"Semyónitch, Semyónitch, don't beat her, don't fight," – stammered Efrém, whose intoxication began to dissipate at such an unexpected event.

"Yes, dear little father, kill me, kill me, dear little father, kill me, the vile creature: beat away, don't heed him!" – shrieked Avdótya, as she writhed convulsively at Akím's feet.

He stood awhile and stared at her, then retreated a few paces, and sat down on the grass, by the roadside.

A brief silence ensued. Avdótya turned her head in his direction.

"Semyónitch, hey, Semyónitch!" – began Efrém, half-rising in the cart; – "have done with that – that will do … for thou canst not repair the calamity. Phew, what an affair!" – he continued, as though to himself; – "what a damned bad woman… Do thou go to him," – he added, bending over the cart-rail toward Avdótya; – "canst not see that he has gone crazy?"

Avdótya rose, approached Akím and again fell at his feet.

"Dear little father," – she began in a faint voice.

Akím rose and went back to the cart. She clutched the skirt of his kaftan.

"Get away!" – he shouted fiercely, repulsing her.

"Whither art thou going?" – Efrém asked him, perceiving that he was taking his seat again beside him.

"Why, thou didst offer to drive me to the inn," – said Akím: – "so drive me to thy house… I have none any more, seest thou. They have bought it from me, you know."

"Well, all right, let 's go to my house. And how about her?"

Akím made no answer.

"And me, me," – chimed in Avdótya, weeping; – "to whose care dost thou leave me … whither am I to go?"