."

"Wha-at?" squealed Madame Shtchukin. "How dare you? I am a weak,
defenceless woman; I won't endure it. My husband is a collegiate
assessor. You screw! . . . I will go to Dmitri Karlitch, the lawyer,
and there will be nothing left of you! I've had the law of three
lodgers, and I will make you flop down at my feet for your saucy
words! I'll go to your general. Your Excellency, your Excellency!"

"Be off, you pest," hissed Alexey Nikolaitch.

Kistunov opened his door and looked into the office.

"What is it?" he asked in a tearful voice.

Madame Shtchukin, as red as a crab, was standing in the middle of
the room, rolling her eyes and prodding the air with her fingers.
The bank clerks were standing round red in the face too, and,
evidently harassed, were looking at each other distractedly.

"Your Excellency," cried Madame Shtchukin, pouncing upon Kistunov.
"Here, this man, he here . . . this man . . ." (she pointed to
Alexey Nikolaitch) "tapped himself on the forehead and then tapped
the table. . . . You told him to go into my case, and he's jeering
at me! I am a weak, defenceless woman. . . . My husband is a
collegiate assessor, and I am a major's daughter myself!"

"Very good, madam," moaned Kistunov. "I will go into it . . . I
will take steps. . . . Go away . . . later!"

"And when shall I get the money, your Excellency? I need it to-day!"

Kistunov passed his trembling hand over his forehead, heaved a sigh,
and began explaining again.

"Madam, I have told you already this is a bank, a private commercial
establishment. . . . What do you want of us? And do understand that
you are hindering us."

Madame Shtchukin listened to him and sighed.

"To be sure, to be sure," she assented. "Only, your Excellency, do
me the kindness, make me pray for you for the rest of my life, be
a father, protect me! If a medical certificate is not enough I can
produce an affidavit from the police. . . . Tell them to give me
the money."

Everything began swimming before Kistunov's eyes. He breathed out
all the air in his lungs in a prolonged sigh and sank helpless on
a chair.

"How much do you want?" he asked in a weak voice.

"Twenty-four roubles and thirty-six kopecks."

Kistunov took his pocket-book out of his pocket, extracted a
twenty-five rouble note and gave it to Madame Shtchukin.

"Take it and . . . and go away!"

Madame Shtchukin wrapped the money up in her handkerchief, put it
away, and pursing up her face i