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‘Whatever can have become of her?’ Praskovia Ivanovna observed serenely….

‘You spoil her, you simply spoil her utterly!’ Pyetushkov repeated, in despair.

‘Eh! my good sir, there’s no looking after a girl!’ responded Praskovia Ivanovna. ‘Let her go her way! So long as she does her work…. Why shouldn’t folks enjoy themselves? …’

A cold shudder ran over Pyetushkov. At last, towards evening, Vassilissa made her appearance. This was all he was waiting for. Majestically Pyetushkov rose from his seat, folded his arms, scowled menacingly…. But Vassilissa looked him boldly in the face, laughed impudently, and before he could utter a single word she went quickly into her own room, and locked herself in. Ivan Afanasiitch opened his mouth, looked in amazement at Praskovia Ivanovna…. Praskovia Ivanovna cast down her eyes. Ivan Afanasiitch stood still a moment, groped after his cap, put it on askew, and went out without closing his mouth.

He reached home, took up a leather cushion, and with it flung himself on the sofa, with his face to the wall. Onisim looked in out of the passage, went into the room, leaned his back against the door, took a pinch of snuff, and crossed his legs.

‘Are you unwell, Ivan Afanasiitch?’ he asked Pyetushkov.

Pyetushkov made no answer.

‘Shall I go for the doctor?’ Onisim continued, after a brief pause.

‘I’m quite well…. Go away,’ Ivan Afanasiitch articulated huskily.

‘Well? … no, you’re not well, Ivan Afanasiitch…. Is this what you call being well?’

Pyetushkov did not speak.

‘Just look at yourself. You’ve grown so thin, that you’re simply not like yourself. And what’s it all about? It’s enough to turn one’s brain to think of it. And you a gentleman born, too!’

Onisim paused. Pyetushkov did not stir.

‘Is that the way gentlemen go on? They’d amuse themselves a bit, to be sure … why shouldn’t they … they’d amuse themselves, and then drop it…. They may well say, Fall in love with Old Nick, and you’ll think him a beauty.’

Ivan Afanasiitch merely writhed.

‘Well, it’s really like this, Ivan Afanasiitch. If any one had said this and that of you, and your goings on, why, I would have said, “Get along with you, you fool, what do you take me for?” Do you suppose I’d have believed it? Why, as it is, I see it with my own eyes, and I can’t believe it. Worse than this nothing can be. Has she put some spell over you or what? Why, what is there in her? If you come to consider, she’s below contempt, really. She can’t even speak as she ought…. She’s simply a baggage! Worse, even!’

‘Go away,’ Ivan Afanasiitch moaned into the cushion.

‘No, I’m not going away, Ivan Afanasiitch. Who’s to speak, if I don’t? Why, upon my word! Here, you ‘re breaking your heart now … and over what? Eh, over what? tell me that!’

‘Oh, go away, Onisim,’ Pyetushkov moaned again. Onisim, for propriety’s sake, was silent for a little while.

‘And another thing,’ he began again, ‘she’s no feeling of gratitude whatever. Any other girl wouldn’t know how to do enough to please you; while she! … she doesn’t even think of you. Why, it’s simply a disgrace. Why, the things people are saying about you, one cannot repeat them, they positively cry shame on me. If I could have known beforehand, I’d have….’

‘Oh, go away, do, devil!’ shrieked Pyetushkov, not stirring from his place, however, nor raising his head.

‘Ivan Afanasiitch, for mercy’s sake,’ pursued the ruthless Onisim. ‘I’m speaking for your good. Despise her, Ivan Afanasiitch; you simply break it off. Listen to me, or else I’ll fetch a wise woman; she’ll break the spell in no time. You’ll laugh at it yourself, later on; you’ll say to me, “Onisim, why, it’s marvellous how such things happen sometimes!” You just consider yourself: girls like her, they’re like dogs … you’ve only to whistle to them….’

Like one frantic, Pyetushkov jumped up from the sofa … but, to the amazement of Onisim, who was already lifting both hands to the level of his cheeks, he sat down again, as though some one had cut away his legs from under him…. Tears were rolling down his pale face, a tuft of hair stood up straight on the top of his head, his eyes looked dimmed … his drawn lips were quivering … his head sank on his breast.