"Generously forgive me, Pavel Mihailovitch . . ." muttered Father
Yakov as though he were drunk, "Forgive me, all this . . . doesn't
matter, and don't take any notice of it. . . . Only I do blame
myself, and always shall blame myself . . . always."

Father Yakov looked about him and began whispering:

"One morning early I was going from Sinkino to Lutchkovo; I saw a
woman standing on the river bank, doing something. . . . I went up
close and could not believe my eyes. . . . It was horrible! The
wife of the doctor, Ivan Sergeitch, was sitting there washing her
linen. . . . A doctor's wife, brought up at a select boarding-school!
She had got up you see, early and gone half a mile from the village
that people should not see her. . . . She couldn't get over her
pride! When she saw that I was near her and noticed her poverty,
she turned red all over. . . . I was flustered--I was frightened,
and ran up to help her, but she hid her linen from me; she was
afraid I should see her ragged chemises. . . ."

"All this is positively incredible," said Kunin, sitting down and
looking almost with horror at Father Yakov's pale face.

"Incredible it is! It's a thing that has never been! Pavel Mihailovitch,
that a doctor's wife should be rinsing the linen in the river! Such
a thing does not happen in any country! As her pastor and spiritual
father, I ought not to allow it, but what can I do? What? Why, I
am always trying to get treated by her husband for nothing myself!
It is true that, as you say, it is all incredible! One can hardly
believe one's eyes. During Mass, you know, when I look out from the
altar and see my congregation, Avraamy starving, and my wife, and