Mashenka made no answer.

"I took my wife's brooch," Nikolay Sergeitch said quickly. "Is that
enough now? Are you satisfied? Yes, I . . . took it. . . . But, of
course, I count on your discretion. . . . For God's sake, not a
word, not half a hint to any one!"

Mashenka, amazed and frightened, went on packing; she snatched her
things, crumpled them up, and thrust them anyhow into the box and
the basket. Now, after this candid avowal on the part of Nikolay
Sergeitch, she could not remain another minute, and could not
understand how she could have gone on living in the house before.

"And it's nothing to wonder at," Nikolay Sergeitch went on after a
pause. "It's an everyday story! I need money, and she . . . won't
give it to me. It was my father's money that bought this house and
everything, you know! It's all mine, and the brooch belonged to my
mother, and . . . it's all mine! And she took it, took possession
of everything. . . . I can't go to law with her, you'll admit. . . .
I beg you most earnestly, overlook it . . . stay on. _Tout
comprendre, tout pardonner._ Will you stay?"

"No!" said Mashenka resolutely, beginning to tremble. "Let me alone,
I entreat you!"

"Well, God bless you!" sighed Nikolay Sergeitch, sitting down on
the stool near the box. "I must own I like people who still can
feel resentment, contempt, and so on. I could sit here forever and
look at your indignant face. . . . So you won't stay, then? I
understand. . . . It's bound to be so. . . Yes, of course. . . .