suspicious even if the whole of Yakov's family had been stained
with blood. To conceal the murder would be agonizing, but for the
policeman, who would whistle and smile ironically, to come from the
station, for the peasants to arrive and bind Yakov's and Aglaia's
hands, and take them solemnly to the district courthouse and from
there to the town, while everyone on the way would point at them
and say mirthfully, "They are taking the Godlies!"--this seemed
to Yakov more agonizing than anything, and he longed to lengthen
out the time somehow, so as to endure this shame not now, but later,
in the future.

"I can lend you a thousand roubles, . . ." he said, overtaking
Sergey Nikanoritch. "If you tell anyone, it will do no good. . . .
There's no bringing the man back, anyway;" and with difficulty
keeping up with the waiter, who did not look round, but tried to
walk away faster than ever, he went on: "I can give you fifteen
hundred. . . ."

He stopped because he was out of breath, while Sergey Nikanoritch
walked on as quickly as ever, probably afraid that he would be
killed, too. Only after passing the railway crossing and going half
the way from the crossing to the station, he furtively looked round
and walked more slowly. Lights, red and green, were already gleaming
in the station and along the line; the wind had fallen, but flakes
of snow were still coming down and the road had turned white again.
But just at the station Sergey Nikanoritch stopped, thought a minute,
and turned resolutely back. It was growing dark.

"Oblige me with the fifteen hundred, Yakov Ivanitch," he said,
trembling all over. "I agree."