abroad
somewhere to the South of France... to Italy.... to India!

"I should certainly go abroad too," his wife said. "But look at the
number of the ticket!"

"Wait, wait!..."

He walked about the room and went on thinking. It occurred to him: what
if his wife really did go abroad? It is pleasant to travel alone, or in
the society of light, careless women who live in the present, and not
such as think and talk all the journey about nothing but their children,
sigh, and tremble with dismay over every farthing. Ivan Dmitritch
imagined his wife in the train with a multitude of parcels, baskets, and
bags; she would be sighing over something, complaining that the train
made her head ache, that she had spent so much money.... At the stations
he would continually be having to run for boiling water, bread and
butter.... She wouldn't have dinner because of its being too dear....

"She would begrudge me every farthing," he thought, with a glance at his
wife. "The lottery ticket is hers, not mine! Besides, what is the use of
her going abroad? What does she want there? She would shut herself up in
the hotel, and not let me out of her sight.... I know!"

And for the first time in his life his mind dwelt on the fact that his
wife had grown elderly and plain, and that she was saturated through and
through with the smell of cooking, while he was still young, fresh, and
healthy, and might well have got married again.

"Of course, all that is silly nonsense," he thought; "but... why should
she go abroad? What would she make of it? And yet she would go, of
course.... I can fancy... In reality it is all one to her, whether it is
Naples or Klin. She would only be in my way. I should be dependent upon
her. I can fancy how, like a regular woman, she will lock the money up
as soon as she gets it.... She will hide it from me.... She will look
after her relations and grudge me every farthing."

Ivan Dmitritch thought of her relations. All those wretched brothers and
sisters and aunts and uncles would come crawling about as soon as they
heard of the winning ticket, would begin whining like beggars, and
fawning upon them with oily, hypocritical smiles. Wretched, detestable
people! If they were given anything, they would ask for more; while if
they were refused, they would swear at them, slander them, and wish them
every kind of misfortune.

Ivan Dmitritch remembered his own relations, and their faces, at which
he had looked impartially in