gloomy anger. He looked at _maman_'s sharp profile, at her little
nose, and at the raincoat which was a present from Nyuta, and
muttered:

"Why do you powder? It's not becoming at your age! You make yourself
up, don't pay your debts at cards, smoke other people's tobacco
. . . . It's hateful! I don't love you . . . I don't love you!"

He was insulting her, and she moved her little eyes about in alarm,
flung up her hands, and whispered in horror:

"What are you saying, my dear! Good gracious! the coachman will
hear! Be quiet or the coachman will hear! He can overhear everything."

"I don't love you . . . I don't love you!" he went on breathlessly.
"You've no soul and no morals. . . . Don't dare to wear that raincoat!
Do you hear? Or else I will tear it into rags. . . ."

"Control yourself, my child," _maman_ wept; "the coachman can hear!"

"And where is my father's fortune? Where is your money? You have
wasted it all. I am not ashamed of being poor, but I am ashamed of
having such a mother. . . . When my schoolfellows ask questions
about you, I always blush."

In the train they had to pass two stations before they reached the
town. Volodya spent all the time on the little platform between two
carriages and shivered all over. He did not want to go into the
compartment because there the mother he hated was sitting. He hated
himself, hated the ticket collectors, the smoke from the engine,