With humbly downcast eyes, in which shame was burning now, he
silently listened to his wife's reproaches, and, humble and meek
as a lamb, went away to his room and locked himself in. For many
hours in succession he knelt before the cross, lowering his head
on his breast; his hands hung helplessly, his back was bent, and
he was silent, as though he dared not pray. His wife used to come
up to the door on tiptoe and listen. Deep sighs were heard from
behind the door--like the breathing of a tired and sickly horse.

"God! You see," whispered Ignat in a muffled voice, firmly
pressing the palms of his hands to his broad breast.

During the days of repentance he drank nothing but water and ate
only rye bread.

In the morning his wife placed at the door of his room a big
bottle of water, about a pound and a half of bread, and salt. He
opened the door, took in these victuals and locked himself in
again. During this time he was not disturbed in any way;
everybody tried to avoid him. A few days later he again appeared
on the exchange, jested, laughed, made contracts to furnish corn
as sharp-sighted as a bird of prey, a rare expert at anything
concerning his affairs.

But in all the moods of Ignat's life there was one passionate
desire that never left him--the desire to have a son; and the
older he grew the greater was this desire. Very often such
conversation as this took place between him and his wife. In the
morning, at her tea, or at noon during dinner hour he gloomily
glared at his wife, a stout, well-fed woman, with a red face and