al death of every proud soul, of all
independence. Married life will corrupt me, it will sap my energy, my
courage in the service of the cause. Children will come, probably not my
own either--certainly not my own: a wise man is not afraid to face the
truth. Liputin proposed this morning putting up barricades to keep out
Nicolas; Liputin's a fool. A woman would deceive the all-seeing eye
itself. _Le bon Dieu_ knew what He was in for when He was creating woman,
but I'm sure that she meddled in it herself and forced Him to create her
such as she is... and with such attributes: for who would have incurred
so much trouble for nothing? I know Nastasya may be angry with me for
free-thinking, but..._enfin, tout est dit._"

He wouldn't have been himself if he could have dispensed with the cheap
gibing free-thought which was in vogue in his day. Now, at any rate, he
comforted himself with a gibe, but not for long.

"Oh, if that day after to-morrow, that Sunday, might never come!" he
exclaimed suddenly, this time in utter despair. "Why could not this
one week be without a Sunday--_si le miracle existe_? What would it be to
Providence to blot out one Sunday from the calendar? If only to prove
His power to the atheists _et que tout soit dit!_ Oh, how I loved her!
Twenty years, these twenty years, and she has never understood me!"

"But of whom are you talking? Even I don't understand you!" I asked,
wondering.

"_Vingt ans!_ And she has not once understood me; oh, it's cruel! And can
she really believe that I am marrying from fear, from poverty? Oh, the
shame of it! Oh, Auntie, Auntie, I do it for you!... Oh, let her know,
that Auntie, that she is the one woman I have adored for twenty years!
She must learn this, it must be so, if not they will need force to drag
me under _ce qu'on appelle le_ wedding-crown."

It was the first time I had heard this confession, and so vigorously
uttered. I won't conceal the fact that I was terribly tempted to laugh.
I was wrong.

"He is the only one left me now, the only one, my one hope!" he cried
suddenly, clasping his hands as though struck by a new idea. "Only he,
my poor boy, can save me now, and, oh, why doesn't he come! Oh, my son,
oh, my Petrusha.... And though I do not deserve the name of father,
but rather that of tiger, yet..._Laissez-moi, mon ami,_ I'll lie down a
little, to collect my ideas. I am so tired, so tired. And I think it's
time you were in bed. _Voyez vous,_ it's twelve o'