h for ten. He speaks French, he speaks German,
and talks better than any of your lawyers--one is never tired of
listening. My children, my children, I can't believe that you are
mine! I can't believe it! You are a martyr, my Borenka, I am ruining
you, and I shall go on ruining you. . . . You give to me endlessly,
though you know your money is thrown away. The other day I sent you
a pitiful letter, I described how ill I was, but you know I was
lying, I wanted the money for rum. And you give to me because you
are afraid to wound me by refusing. I know all that, and feel it.
Grisha's a martyr, too. On Thursday I went to his office, drunk,
filthy, ragged, reeking of vodka like a cellar . . . I went straight
up, such a figure, I pestered him with nasty talk, while his
colleagues and superiors and petitioners were standing round. I
have disgraced him for life. And he wasn't the least confused, only
turned a bit pale, but smiled and came up to me as though there
were nothing the matter, even introduced me to his colleagues. Then
he took me all the way home, and not a word of reproach. I rob him
worse than you. Take your brother Sasha now, he's a martyr too! He
married, as you know, a colonel's daughter of an aristocratic circle,
and got a dowry with her. . . . You would think he would have nothing
to do with me. No, brother, after his wedding he came with his young
wife and paid me the first visit . . . in my hole. . . . Upon my
soul!"

The old man gave a sob and then began laughing.

"And at that moment, as luck would have it, we were eating grated
radish with kvass and frying fish, and there was a stink enough in
the flat to make the devil sick. I was lying down--I'd had a drop
--my virago bounced out at the young people with her face crimson,
. . . It was a disgrace in fact. But Sasha rose superior to it all."

"Yes, our Sasha is a good fellow," said Boris.

"The most splendid fellow! You are all pure gold, you and Grisha
and Sasha and Sonya. I worry you, torment you, disgrace you, rob
you, and all my life I have not heard one word of reproach from
you, you have never given me one cross look. It would be all very
well if I had been a decent father to you--but as it is! You have
had nothing from me but harm. I am a bad, dissipated man. . . .
Now, thank God, I am quieter and I have no strength of will, but
in old days when you were little I had determination, will. Whatever
I said or did I always thought it was right. So