gh
she were on the stage, really might go down on her knees to her,
simply from pride, from grandeur, to exalt herself and humiliate
the chorus girl.

"Very well, I will give you things!" said Pasha, wiping her eyes
and bustling about. "By all means. Only they are not from Nikolay
Petrovitch. . . . I got these from other gentlemen. As you
please. . . ."

Pasha pulled out the upper drawer of the chest, took out a diamond
brooch, a coral necklace, some rings and bracelets, and gave them
all to the lady.

"Take them if you like, only I've never had anything from your
husband. Take them and grow rich," Pasha went on, offended at the
threat to go down on her knees. "And if you are a lady . . . his
lawful wife, you should keep him to yourself. I should think so! I
did not ask him to come; he came of himself."

Through her tears the lady scrutinized the articles given her and
said:

"This isn't everything. . . . There won't be five hundred roubles'
worth here."

Pasha impulsively flung out of the chest a gold watch, a cigar-case
and studs, and said, flinging up her hands:

"I've nothing else left. . . . You can search!"

The visitor gave a sigh, with trembling hands twisted the things
up in her handkerchief, and went out without uttering a word, without
even nodding her head.

The door from the next room opened and Kolpakov walked in. He was
pale and kept shaking his head nervously, as though he had swallowed
something very bitter; tears were glistening in his eyes.

"What presents did you make me?" Pasha asked, pouncing upon him.
"When did you, allow me to ask you?"

"Presents . . . that's no matter!" said Kolpakov, and he tossed his
head. "My God! She cried before you, she humbled herself. . . ."

"I am asking you, what presents did you make me?" Pasha cried.

"My God! She, a lady, so proud, so pure. . . . She was ready to go
down on her knees to . . . to this wench! And I've brought her to
this! I've allowed it!"

He clutched his head in his hands and moaned.

"No, I shall never forgive myself for this! I shall never forgive
myself! Get away from me . . . you low creature!" he cried with
repulsion, backing away from Pasha, and thrusting her off with
trembling hands. "She would have gone down on her knees, and . . .
and to you! Oh, my God!"

He rapidly dressed, and pushing Pasha aside contemptuously, made
for the door and went out.

Pasha lay down and began wailing aloud. She was already regretting