en; I will arrange it all. . . . But why is it, my angel,
you seem to be afraid of me and hold me at arm's length? Sit a
little nearer! There is no need for you to be afraid of me nowadays.
He-he! . . . At one time, it is true, I was a cunning blade, a dog
of a fellow . . . no one dared approach me; but now I am stiller
than water and humbler than the grass. I have grown old, I am a
family man, I have children. It's time I was dead."

The friends had lunch, had a drink, and with a pair of horses drove
out of the town to the cemetery.

"Yes, those were times!" Shapkin recalled as he sat in the sledge.
"When you remember them you simply can't believe in them. Do you
remember how you divorced your wife? It's nearly twenty years ago,
and I dare say you have forgotten it all; but I remember it as
though I'd divorced you yesterday. Good Lord, what a lot of worry
I had over it! I was a sharp fellow, tricky and cunning, a desperate
character. . . . Sometimes I was burning to tackle some ticklish
business, especially if the fee were a good one, as, for instance,
in your case. What did you pay me then? Five or six thousand! That
was worth taking trouble for, wasn't it? You went off to Petersburg
and left the whole thing in my hands to do the best I could, and,
though Sofya Mihailovna, your wife, came only of a merchant family,
she was proud and dignified. To bribe her to take the guilt on
herself was difficult, awfully difficult! I would go to negotiate
with her, and as soon as she saw me she called to her maid: 'Masha,
didn't I tell you not to admit that scoundrel?' Well, I tried one
thing and another. . . . I wrote her letters and contrived to meet
her accidentally--it was no use! I had to act through a third
person. I had a lot of trouble with her for a long time, and she
only gave in when you agreed to give her ten thousand. . . . She
couldn't resist ten thousand, she couldn't hold out. . . . She
cried, she spat in my face, but she consented, she took the guilt
on herself!"

"I thought it was fifteen thousand she had from me, not ten," said
Uzelkov.

"Yes, yes . . . fifteen--I made a mistake," said Shapkin in
confusion. "It's all over and done with, though, it's no use
concealing it. I gave her ten and the other five I collared for
myself. I deceived you both. . . . It's all over and done with,
it's no use to be ashamed. And indeed, judge for yourself, Boris
Petrovitch, weren't you the very person for me to get money ou