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When Agnia was here I had no women to see me, for I had one at home; but now, you can see for yourself, sir,... one can't help having strangers. In Agnia's time, of course, there was nothing irregular, because..." "Be off, you scoundrel!" Miguev shouted at him, stamping, and he went back into the room.
A shoemaker! and he the son of a collegiate assessor, of good family.... He is my flesh and blood,... " Miguev came out of the shade of the lime trees into the bright moonlight of the open road, and opening the bundle, he looked at the baby. "Asleep!" he murmured.
The whole colony of summer visitors would know his secret now, and probably the respectable mothers of families would shut their doors to him. Such incidents always get into the papers, and the humble name of Miguev would be published all over Russia....
And she demanded that he should put five thousand roubles into the bank in her name. Miguev remembered it, heaved a sigh, and once more reproached himself with heartfelt repentance for the momentary infatuation which had caused him so much worry and misery. When he reached his bungalow, he sat down to rest on the doorstep.
Next morning, Masha was sitting in a little general shop writing: "Papa, he beats me! Forgive us! Send us some money!" A COLLEGIATE assessor called Miguev stopped at a telegraph-post in the course of his evening walk and heaved a deep sigh.
"Forgive me, old fellow! I am a scoundrel," he muttered. "Don't remember evil against me." He stepped back, but immediately cleared his throat resolutely and said: "Oh, come what will! Damn it all! I'll take him, and let people say what they like!" Miguev took the baby and strode rapidly back. "Let them say what they like," he thought.
And Miguev made up his mind to take the baby to Myelkin's, although the merchant's villa was in the furthest street, close to the river. "If only it does not begin screaming or wriggle out of the bundle," thought the collegiate assessor. "This is indeed a pleasant surprise! Here I am carrying a human being under my arm as though it were a portfolio.
What are you saying?" shouted Miguev at the top of his voice. Yermolay, interpreting his master's wrath in his own fashion, scratched his head and heaved a sigh. "I am sorry, Semyon Erastovitch," he said, "but it's the summer holidays,... one can't get on without... without a woman, I mean...."
"Haste, haste!..." he muttered, "this minute, before anyone sees. I'll carry it away and lay it on somebody's doorstep...." Miguev took the bundle in one hand and quietly, with a deliberate step to avoid awakening suspicion, went down the street.... "A wonderfully nasty position!" he reflected, trying to assume an air of unconcern. "A collegiate assessor walking down the street with a baby!
Anna Filippovna, amazed and wrathful, was sitting as before, her tear-stained eyes fixed on the baby.... "There! there!" Miguev muttered with a pale face, twisting his lips into a smile. "It was a joke.... It's not my baby,... it's the washer-woman's!... I... I was joking.... Take it to the porter."
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