almost choked Foma; he felt as though he had
lost his way. He was sorry for the woman. But she also irritated him.

"Do you hear how I speak to you? I wish I were your mother, or your
sister. Never before did anybody awaken in me so warm and kindred a
feeling as you have done. And you, you look at me in such an unfriendly
way. Do you believe me? Yes? No?"

He looked at her and said with a sigh:

"I don't know. I used to believe you."

"And now?" she asked hastily.

"And now--it is best for me to go! I don't understand anything, and yet
I long to understand. I do not even understand myself. On my way to you
I knew what to say, and here all is confused. You have put me up on the
rack, you have set me on edge. And then you tell me--'I am as a mother
to you'--which means--begone!"

"Understand me, I feel sorry for you!" the woman exclaimed softly.

Foma's irritation against her was growing stronger and stronger, and as
he went on speaking to her, his words became absurd. While he spoke, he
kept on moving his shoulders as though tearing something that entangled
him.

"Sorry? What for? I do not need it. Eh, I cannot speak well! It is
bad to be dumb. But--I would have told you! You did not treat me
properly--indeed, why have you so enticed a man? Am I a plaything for
you?"

"I only wanted to see you by my side," said the woman simply, in a
guilty voice.

He did not hear these words.

"And when it came to the point, you were frightened and you shut
yourself off from me. You began to repent. Ha, ha! Life is bad! And why
are you always complaining of some life? What life? Man is life, and
except man there is no life. You have invented some other monster. You
have done this to deceive the eye, to justify yourself. You do some
mischief, you lose yourself in different inventions and foolishnesses
and then you sigh! Ah, life! Oh, life! And have you not done it
yourself? And covering yourself with complaints, you confuse others. You
have lost your way, very well, but why do you want to lead me astray? Is
it wickedness that speaks in you: 'I feel bad,' you say, 'let him also
feel bad--there, I'll besprinkle his heart with my poisonous tears!'
Isn't that so? Eh! God has given you the beauty of an angel, but your
heart--where is it?"

Standing before her, he trembled in every limb, and examined her from
head to foot with reproachful looks. Now his words came freely from his
heart, he spoke not loud, but with power and ple