ught to know nothing, and his wife ought to be as neat as a little
angel in his presence. I wake up every morning before it is light,
and wash my face with cold water that my Nikodim Alexandritch may
not see me looking drowsy."

"That's all nonsense," Nadyezhda Fyodorovna sobbed. "If only I were
happy, but I am so unhappy!"

"Yes, yes; you are very unhappy!" Marya Konstantinovna sighed,
hardly able to restrain herself from weeping. "And there's terrible
grief in store for you in the future! A solitary old age, ill-health;
and then you will have to answer at the dread judgment seat. . .
It's awful, awful. Now fate itself holds out to you a helping hand,
and you madly thrust it from you. Be married, make haste and be
married!"

"Yes, we must, we must," said Nadyezhda Fyodorovna; "but it's
impossible!"

"Why?"

"It's impossible. Oh, if only you knew!"

Nadyezhda Fyodorovna had an impulse to tell her about Kirilin, and
how the evening before she had met handsome young Atchmianov at the
harbour, and how the mad, ridiculous idea had occurred to her of
cancelling her debt for three hundred; it had amused her very much,
and she returned home late in the evening feeling that she had sold
herself and was irrevocably lost. She did not know herself how it
had happened. And she longed to swear to Marya Konstantinovna that
she would certainly pay that debt, but sobs and shame prevented her
from speaking.

"I am going away," she said. "Ivan Andreitch may stay, but I am
going."

"Where?"

"To Russia."

"But how will you live there? Why, you have nothing."

"I will do translation, or . . . or I will open a library . . . ."

"Don't let your fancy run away with you, my dear. You must have
money for a library. Well, I will leave you now, and you calm
yourself and think things over, and to-morrow come and see me,
bright and happy. That will be enchanting! Well, good-bye, my angel.
Let me kiss you."

Marya Konstantinovna kissed Nadyezhda Fyodorovna on the forehead,
made the sign of the cross over her, and softly withdrew. It was
getting dark, and Olga lighted up in the kitchen. Still crying,
Nadyezhda Fyodorovna went into the bedroom and lay down on the bed.
She began to be very feverish. She undressed without getting up,
crumpled up her clothes at her feet, and curled herself up under
the bedclothes. She was thirsty, and there was no one to give her
something to drink.

"I'll pay it back!" she said to herself, and it s