never ask me about
anything?"

"Why, you won't tell. That's why I don't ask."

"I won't tell, I won't tell," she answered quickly. "You may kill me, I
won't tell. You may burn me, I won't tell. And whatever I had to bear
I'd never tell, people won't find out!"

"There, you see. Every one has something of their own," Shatov said,
still more softly, his head drooping lower and lower.

"But if you were to ask perhaps I should tell, perhaps I should!"
she repeated ecstatically. "Why don't you ask? Ask, ask me nicely,
Shatushka, perhaps I shall tell you. Entreat me, Shatushka, so that I
shall consent of myself. Shatushka, Shatushka!"

But Shatushka was silent. There was complete silence lasting a minute.
Tears slowly trickled down her painted cheeks. She sat forgetting her
two hands on Shatov's shoulders, but no longer looking at him.

"Ach, what is it to do with me, and it's a sin." Shatov suddenly got up
from the bench.

"Get up!" He angrily pulled the bench from under me and put it back
where it stood before.

"He'll be coming, so we must mind he doesn't guess. It's time we were
off."

"Ach, you're talking of my footman," Marya Timofyevna laughed suddenly.
"You're afraid of him. Well, good-bye, dear visitors, but listen for one
minute, I've something to tell you. That Nilitch came here with Filipov,
the landlord, a red beard, and my fellow had flown at me just then, so
the landlord caught hold of him and pulled him about the room while he
shouted 'It's not my fault, I'm suffering for another man's sin!' So
would you believe it, we all burst out laughing...."

"Ach, Timofyevna, why it was I, not the red beard, it was I pulled
him away from you by his hair, this morning; the landlord came the day
before yesterday to make a row; you've mixed it up."

"Stay, I really have mixed it up. Perhaps it was you. Why dispute about
trifles? What does it matter to him who it is gives him a beating?" She
laughed.

"Come along!" Shatov pulled me. "The gate's creaking, he'll find us and
beat her."

And before we had time to run out on to the stairs we heard a drunken
shout and a shower of oaths at the gate.

Shatov let me into his room and locked the door.

"You'll have to stay a minute if you don't want a scene. He's squealing
like a little pig, he must have stumbled over the gate again. He falls
flat every time."

We didn't get off without a scene, however.

VI

Shatov stood at the closed door of his room and