“Go, my dear boy, go by all means!” Anna Andreyevna urged me anxiously. “Have just a cup of tea as soon as he comes back. . . . Ach, they haven’t brought the samovar! Matryona Why are you so long with samovar? She’s a saucy baggage! . . . Then when you’ve drunk your tea, find some good excuse and get away. But be sure to come tomorrow and tell me everything. And run round early! Good heavens! Something dreadful may have happened already! Though how could things be worse than they are, when you come to think of it! Why, Nikolay Sergeyitch knows everything, my heart tells me he does. I hear a great deal through Matryona, and she through Agasha, and Agasha is the god-daughter of Marya Vassilyevna, who lives in the prince’s house . . . but there, you know all that. My Nikolay was terribly angry today. I tried to say one thing and another and he almost shouted at me. And then he seemed sorry, said he was short of money. Just as though he’d been making an outcry about money. You know our circumstances. After dinner he went to have a nap. I peeped at him through the chink (there’s a chink in the door he doesn’t know of). And he, poor dear, was on his knees, praying before the shrine. I felt my legs give way under me when I saw it. He didn’t sleep, and he had no tea; he took up his hat and went out. He went out at five o’clock. I didn’t dare question him: he’d have shouted at me. He’s taken to shouting — generally at Matryona, but sometimes at me. And when he starts it makes my legs go numb, and there’s a sinking at my heart. Of course it’s foolishness, I know it’s his foolishness, but still it frightens me. I prayed for a whole hour after he went out that God would send him some good thought. Where is her note? Show it me!”
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