ve pity on me!" she whispered in his ear. "Oh, have pity on me! I am
so miserable!"

"You don't know your part! Listen to the prompter!" hissed the
tragedian, and he thrust his sword into her hand.

After the performance, Limonadov and Fenogenov were sitting in the
ticket box-office engaged in conversation.

"Your wife does not learn her part, you are right there," the manager
was saying. "She doesn't know her line.... Every man has his own
line,... but she doesn't know hers...."

Fenogenov listened, sighed, and scowled and scowled.

Next morning, Masha was sitting in a little general shop writing:

"Papa, he beats me! Forgive us! Send us some money!"

A TRANSGRESSION

A COLLEGIATE assessor called Miguev stopped at a telegraph-post in the
course of his evening walk and heaved a deep sigh. A week before, as he
was returning home from his evening walk, he had been overtaken at that
very spot by his former housemaid, Agnia, who said to him viciously:

"Wait a bit! I'll cook you such a crab that'll teach you to ruin
innocent girls! I'll leave the baby at your door, and I'll have the law
of you, and I'll tell your wife, too...."

And she demanded that he should put five thousand roubles into the
bank in her name. Miguev remembered it, heaved a sigh, and once
more reproached himself with heartfelt repentance for the momentary
infatuation which had caused him so much worry and misery.

When he reached his bungalow, he sat down to rest on the doorstep. It
was just ten o'clock, and a bit of the moon peeped out from behind
the clouds. There was not a soul in the street nor near the bungalows;
elderly summer visitors were already going to bed, while young ones were
walking in the wood. Feeling in both his pockets for a match to light
his cigarette, Miguev brought his elbow into contact with something
soft. He looked idly at his right elbow, and his face was instantly
contorted by a look of as much horror as though he had seen a snake
beside him. On the step at the very door lay a bundle. Something oblong
in shape was wrapped up in something--judging by the feel of it,
a wadded quilt. One end of the bundle was a little open, and the
collegiate assessor, putting in his hand, felt something damp and warm.
He leaped on to his feet in horror, and looked about him like a criminal
trying to escape from his warders....

"She has left it!" he muttered wrathfully through his teeth, clenching
his fists. "Here it lies....