room, uttering a prolonged moan as though she had toothache. With a wave
of my hand, I went into the drawing-room. I was choking with rage, and
at the same time I was trembling with terror that I might not restrain
myself, and that I might say or do something which I might regret all my
life. And I clenched my hands tight, hoping to hold myself in.

After drinking some water and recovering my calm a little, I went back
to my wife. She was standing in the same attitude as before, as though
barring my approach to the table with the papers. Tears were slowly
trickling down her pale, cold face. I paused then and said to her
bitterly but without anger:

"How you misunderstand me! How unjust you are to me! I swear upon my
honour I came to you with the best of motives, with nothing but the
desire to do good!"

"Pavel Andreitch!" she said, clasping her hands on her bosom, and her
face took on the agonized, imploring expression with which frightened,
weeping children beg not to be punished, "I know perfectly well that
you will refuse me, but still I beg you. Force yourself to do one kind
action in your life. I entreat you, go away from here! That's the only
thing you can do for the starving peasants. Go away, and I will forgive
you everything, everything!"

"There is no need for you to insult me, Natalie," I sighed, feeling a
sudden rush of humility. "I had already made up my mind to go away, but
I won't go until I have done something for the peasants. It's my duty!"

"Ach!" she said softly with an impatient frown. "You can make an
excellent bridge or railway, but you can do nothing for the starving