one another, spinning yarn. Between the stove and the table at which
Matvey was sitting was stretched an ironing-board; on it stood a
cold iron.

"Sister," Matvey asked, "let me have a little oil!"

"Who eats oil on a day like this?" asked Aglaia.

"I am not a monk, sister, but a layman. And in my weak health I may
take not only oil but milk."

"Yes, at the factory you may have anything."

Aglaia took a bottle of Lenten oil from the shelf and banged it
angrily down before Matvey, with a malignant smile evidently pleased
that he was such a sinner.

"But I tell you, you can't eat oil!" shouted Yakov.

Aglaia and Dashutka started, but Matvey poured the oil into the
bowl and went on eating as though he had not heard.

"I tell you, you can't eat oil!" Yakov shouted still more loudly;
he turned red all over, snatched up the bowl, lifted it higher that
his head, and dashed it with all his force to the ground, so that
it flew into fragments. "Don't dare to speak!" he cried in a furious
voice, though Matvey had not said a word. "Don't dare!" he repeated,
and struck his fist on the table.

Matvey turned pale and got up.