decision, though he could still scarcely control himself. “That will do later, but first…”
Here he looked round him.
“You… Who let you into the library? How is it that this bookcase is open? Where did you get the key?”
“I am not going to answer you,” I said. “I can’t talk to you. Let me go, let me go.”
I went towards the door.
“Excuse me,” he said, holding me by the arm. “You are not going away like that.”
I tore my arm away from him without a word, and again made a movement towards the door.
“Very well. But I really cannot allow you to receive letters from your lovers in my house….”
I cried out with horror, and looked at him frantically….
“And so…”
“Stop!” I cried. “How can you? How could you say it to me? My God! My God!…”
“What? What? Are you threatening me too?”
But as I gazed at him, I was pale and overwhelmed with despair. The scene between us had reached a degree of exasperation I could not understand. My eyes besought him not to prolong it. I was ready to forgive the outrage if only he would stop. He looked at me intently, and visibly hesitated.
“Don’t drive me to extremes,” I whispered in horror.
“No, I must get to the bottom of it,” he said at last, as though considering. “I must confess the look in your eyes almost made me hesitate,” he added with a strange smile. “But unluckily, the fact speaks for itself. I succeeded in reading the first words of your letter. It’s a love letter. You won’t persuade me it isn’t! No, dismiss that idea from your mind! And that I could doubt it for a moment only proves that I must add to your excellent qualities your abilities as an expert liar, and therefore I repeat…”
As he talked, his face was more and more distorted with anger. He turned white, his lips were drawn and twitching, so that he could hardly articulate the last words. It was getting dark. I stood defenceless, alone, facing a man who was capable of insulting a woman. All appearances were against me too; I was tortured with shame, distracted, and could not understand this man’s fury. Beside myself with terror, I rushed out of the room without answering him, and only came to myself as I stood on the threshold of Alexandra Mihalovna’s study. At that instant I heard his footsteps; I was just about to go in when I stopped short as though thunderstruck.
“What will happen to her?” was the thought that flashed through my mind. “That letter!… No; better anything in the world than that last blow to her,” and I was rushing back. But it was too late; he was standing beside me.
“Let us go where you like, only not here, not here!” I whispered, clutching at his arm. “Spare her! I will go back to the library or… where you like! You will kill her!”
“It is you who are killing her,” he said, pushing me away.
Every hope vanished. I felt that to bring the whole scene before Alexandra Mihalovna was just what he wanted.
“For God’s sake,” I said, doing my utmost to hold him back. But at that instant the curtain was raised, and Alexandra Mihalovna stood facing us. She looked at us in surprise. Her face was paler than usual. She could hardly stand on her feet. It was evident that it had cost her a great effort to get as far as us when she heard our voices.
“Who is here? What are you talking about here?” she asked, looking at us in the utmost amazement.
There was a silence that lasted several moments, and she turned as white as a sheet. I flew to her, held her tight in my arms, and drew her back into her room. Pyotr Alexandrovitch walked in after me. I hid my face on her bosom and clasped her more and more tightly in my arms, half dead with suspense.
“What is it, Nyetochka, what’s happened to you both?” Alexandra Mihalovna asked a second time.
“Ask her, you defended her so warmly yesterday,” said Pyotr Alexandrovitch, sinking heavily into an armchair.
I held her more tightly in my embrace.
“But, my goodness, what is the meaning of it?” said Alexandra Milialovna in great alarm. “You are so irritated, and she is frightened and crying. Anneta, tell me all that has happened.”
“No, allow me first,” said Pyotr Alexandrovitch, coming up to us, taking me by the arm, and pulling me away from Alexandra Mihalovna. “Stand here,” he said, putting me in the middle of the room. “I wish to judge you before her who has been a mother to you. And don’t worry yourself, sit down,” he added, motioning Alexandra Mihalovna to an easy-chair. “It grieves me that I cannot spare you this unpleasant scene; but it must be so.”
“Good heavens! What is coming?” said Alexandra Mihalovna, in great distress, gazing alternately at me and her husband. I wrung my hands, feeling that the fatal moment was at hand. I expected no mercy from him now.
“In short,” Pyotr Alexandrovitch went on, “I want you to judge between us. You always (and I can’t understand why, it is one of your whims), you always — yesterday, for instance — thought and said… but I don’t know how to say it, I blush at the suggestion…. In short, you defended her, you attacked me, you charged me with undue severity; you even hinted at another feeling, suggesting that that provoked me to undue severity; you… but I do not understand why, I cannot help my confusion, and the colour that flushes my face at the thought of your suppositions; and so I cannot speak of them directly, openly before her…. In fact you…”
“Oh, you won’t do that! No, you won’t say that!” cried Alexandra Mihalovna in great agitation, hot with shame. “No, spare her. It was all my fault, it was my idea! I have no suspicions now. Forgive me for them, forgive me. I am ill, you must forgive me, only do not speak of it to her, don’t…. Anneta,” she said, coming up to me, “Anneta, go out of the room, make haste, make haste! He was joking; it is all my fault; it is a tactless joke….”
“In short, you were jealous of her on my account,” said Pyotr Alexandrovitch, ruthlessly flinging those words in the face of her agonised suspense.
She gave a shriek, turned pale and leaned against her chair for support, hardly able to stand on her feet.
“God forgive you,” she said at last in a faint voice. “Forgive me for him, Nyetochka, forgive me; it was all my fault, I was ill, I…”
“But this is tyrannical, shameless, vile!” I cried in a frenzy, understanding it all at last, understanding why he wanted to discredit me in his wife’s eyes. “It’s below contempt; you…”
“Anneta!” cried Alexandra Mihalovna, clutching my hands in horror.
“It’s a farce, a farce, and nothing else!” said Pyotr Alexandrovitch, coming up to us in indescribable excitement. “It’s a farce, I tell you,” he went on, looking intently with a malignant smile at his wife. “And the only one deceived by the farce is — you. Believe me, we,” he brought out breathlessly, pointing at me, “are not at all afraid of discussing such matters; believe me, that we are not so maidenly as to be offended, to blush and to cover our ears, when we are talked to about such subjects. You must excuse
