band.'

Nikolai Artemyevitch's eyes were starting out of his head.

'Your----'

'My husband,' repeated Elena; 'I am married to Dmitri Nikanorovitch
Insarov.'

'You?--married?'--was all Anna Vassilyevna could articulate.

'Yes, mamma.... Forgive me. A fortnight ago, we were secretly married.'

Anna Vassilyevna fell back in her chair; Nikolai Artemyevitch stepped
two paces back.

'Married! To that vagrant, that Montenegrin! the daughter of Nikolai
Stahov of the higher nobility married to a vagrant, a nobody, without
her parents' sanction! And you imagine I shall let the matter rest,
that I shall not make a complaint, that I will allow you--that
you--that----To the nunnery with you, and he shall go to prison, to hard
labour! Anna Vassilyevna, inform her at once that you will cut off her
inheritance!'

'Nikolai Artemyevitch, for God's sake,' moaned Anna Vassilyevna.

'And when and how was this done? Who married you? where? how? Good
God! what will all our friends think, what will the world say! And you,
shameless hypocrite, could go on living under your parents' roof after
such an act! Had you no fear of--the wrath of heaven?'

'Papa' said Elena (she was trembling from head to foot but her voice was
steady), 'you are at liberty to do with me as you please, but you need
not accuse me of shamelessness, and hypocrisy. I did not want--to give
you pain before, but I should have had to tell you all myself in a few
days, because we are going away--my husband and I--from here next week.'

'Going away? Where to?'

'To his own country, to Bulgaria.'

'To the Turks!' cried Anna Vassilyevna and fell into a swoon.

Elena ran to her mother.

'Away!' clamoured Nikolai Artemyevitch, seizing his daughter by the arm,
'away, unworthy girl!'

But at that instant the door of the room opened, and a pale face with
glittering eyes appeared: it was the face of Shubin.

'Nikolai Artemyevitch!' he shouted at the top of his voice, 'Augustina
Christianovna is here and is asking for you!'

Nikolai Artemyevitch turned round infuriated, threatening Shubin with
his fist; he stood still a minute and rapidly went out of the room.

Elena fell at her mother's feet and embraced her knees.

Uvar Ivanovitch was lying on his bed. A shirt without a collar, fastened
with a heavy stud enfolded his thick neck and fell in full flowing folds
over the almost feminine contours of his chest, leaving visible a large
cypress-wood cross and an amu