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"Wha-at?" squealed Madame Shtchukin. "How dare you? I am a weak, defenceless woman; I won't endure it. My husband is a collegiate assessor. You screw! . . . I will go to Dmitri Karlitch, the lawyer, and there will be nothing left of you! I've had the law of three lodgers, and I will make you flop down at my feet for your saucy words! I'll go to your general. Your Excellency, your Excellency!"
Your petition has nothing to do with us at all. You will have to apply to the department in which your husband was employed." "Why, my dear sir, I have been to five places already, and they would not even take the petition anywhere," said Madame Shtchukin. "I'd quite lost my head, but, thank goodness God bless him for it my son-in-law, Boris Matveyitch, advised me to come to you. 'You go to Mr.
Kistunov shrugged his shoulders again and turned to a gentleman in a military uniform, with a swollen face. "Your Excellency," piped Madame Shtchukin in a pitiful voice, "I have the doctor's certificate that my husband was ill! Here it is, if you will kindly look at it." "Very good, I believe you," Kistunov said irritably, "but I repeat it has nothing to do with us.
Kistunov, mamma: he is an influential man, he can do anything for you. . . . Help me, your Excellency!" "We can do nothing for you, Madame Shtchukin. You must understand: your husband served in the Army Medical Department, and our establishment is a purely private commercial undertaking, a bank. Surely you must understand that!"
As he sat in his room Kistunov heard two voices: the monotonous, restrained bass of Alexey Nikolaitch and the shrill, wailing voice of Madame Shtchukin. "I am a weak, defenceless woman, I am a woman in delicate health," said Madame Shtchukin. "I look strong, but if you were to overhaul me there is not one healthy fibre in me.
Madame Shtchukin wrapped the money up in her handkerchief, put it away, and pursing up her face into a sweet, mincing, even coquettish smile, asked: "Your Excellency, and would it be possible for my husband to get a post again?" "I am going . . . I am ill . . ." said Kistunov in a weary voice. "I have dreadful palpitations."
"Your Excellency," cried Madame Shtchukin, pouncing upon Kistunov. I am a weak, defenceless woman. . . . My husband is a collegiate assessor, and I am a major's daughter myself!" "Very good, madam," moaned Kistunov. "I will go into it . . . I will take steps. . . . Go away . . . later!" "And when shall I get the money, your Excellency? I need it to-day!"
When he had driven home Alexey Nikolaitch sent Nikita for some laurel drops, and, after taking twenty drops each, all the clerks set to work, while Madame Shtchukin stayed another two hours in the vestibule, talking to the porter and waiting for Kistunov to return. . . . She came again next day. ON the red velvet seat of a first-class railway carriage a pretty lady sits half reclining.
Kistunov was conscious of the palpitation of his heart. With a face of anguish, pressing his hand on his heart, he began explaining to Madame Shtchukin again, but his voice failed him. "No, excuse me, I cannot talk to you," he said with a wave of his hand. "My head's going round. You are hindering us and wasting your time. Ough!
"How much do you want?" he asked in a weak voice. "Twenty-four roubles and thirty-six kopecks." Kistunov took his pocket-book out of his pocket, extracted a twenty-five rouble note and gave it to Madame Shtchukin. "Take it and . . . and go away!"
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