sleepy eyes, and asked her:

"Well, don't you feel anything?"

She knew what he meant, but she invariably replied:

"How can I help feeling? Your fists are like dumb-bells."

"You know what I'm talking about, you fool."

"Can one become pregnant from such blows?"

"It's not on account of the blows that you don't bear any
children; it's because you eat too much. You fill your stomach
with all sorts of food--and there's no room for the child to
engender."

"As if I didn't bear you any children?"

"Those were girls," said Ignat, reproachfully. "I want a son! Do
you understand? A son, an heir! To whom shall I give my capital
after my death? Who shall pray for my sins? Shall I give it to a
cloister? I have given them enough! Or shall I leave it to you?
What a fine pilgrim you are! Even in church you think only of
fish pies. If I die, you'll marry again, and my money will be
turned over to some fool. Do you think this is what I am working
for?"

And he was seized with sardonic anguish, for he felt that his
life was aimless if he should have no son to follow him.