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Updated: May 14, 2025
The painter stopped and took me by the button. "Misail Alexeyitch, our angel," he went on. "The way I look at it is that if any man, gentle or simple, takes even the smallest interest, he is doing evil. There cannot be truth and justice in such a man."
"Misail, did you hear that?" said my wife in a hushed voice. "Did you hear?" She came out of the bedroom in her nightgown, with her hair down, and stood listening and staring out of the dark window. "Somebody is being murdered!" she muttered. "It only wanted that!" I took my gun and went out; it was very dark outside; a violent wind was blowing so that it was hard to stand up.
My dear Misail, give me my freedom. Quick, tear the thread which still holds and binds us. My meeting and knowing you was a ray from heaven, which brightened my existence.
In the family there were sayings: "Money loves an account," or "A copeck saves a rouble," and so on, and my sister, impressed by such wisdom, did her best to cut down expenses and made us feed rather meagrely. She put the plate on the table, sat on my bed, and began to cry. "Misail," she said, "what are you doing to us?"
One day a workman, who was painting a dove on the ceiling, called out to me in her presence: "Misail, hand me up the white paint." I took him the white paint, and afterwards, when I let myself down by the frail scaffolding, she looked at me, touched to tears and smiling. "What a dear you are!" she said.
And if she came in to see me she was very pale, with tear-stained eyes, and she began crying at once. "Our father will never live through this," she would say. "If anything should happen to him God grant it may not your conscience will torment you all your life. It's awful, Misail; for our mother's sake I beseech you: reform your ways."
"Misail," she said, "what a way to treat us!" She did not cover her face; her tears dropped on her bosom and hands, and there was a look of distress on her face. She fell back on the pillow, and abandoned herself to her tears, sobbing and quivering all over. "You have left the service again . . ." she articulated. "Oh, how awful it is!"
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