om the frost and vodka; near him, behind the counter,
stood Nikolka, with the expression of a brigand, holding a bloodstained
knife in his hand.

"I desire to express my word to you," Prokofy began. "This incident
cannot continue, because, as you understand yourself that for such
a vale, people will say nothing good of you or of us. Mamma, through
pity, cannot say something unpleasant to you, that your sister
should move into another lodging on account of her condition, but
I won't have it any more, because I can't approve of her behaviour."

I understood him, and I went out of the shop. The same day my sister
and I moved to Radish's. We had no money for a cab, and we walked
on foot; I carried a parcel of our belongings on my back; my sister
had nothing in her hands, but she gasped for breath and coughed,
and kept asking whether we should get there soon.

XIX

At last a letter came from Masha.

"Dear, good M. A." (she wrote), "our kind, gentle 'angel' as the
old painter calls you, farewell; I am going with my father to America
for the exhibition. In a few days I shall see the ocean--so far
from Dubetchnya, it's dreadful to think! It's far and unfathomable
as the sky, and I long to be there in freedom. I am triumphant, I
am mad, and you see how incoherent my letter is. Dear, good one,
give me my freedom, make haste to break the thread, which still
holds, binding you and me together. My meeting and knowing you was
a ray from heaven that lighted up my existence; but my becoming
your wife was a mistake, you understand that, and I am oppressed
now by the consciousness of the mistake, and I beseech you, on my
knees, my generous friend, quickly, quickly, before I start for the
ocean, telegraph that you consent to correct our common mistake,
to remove the solitary stone from my wings, and my father, who will
undertake all the arrangements, promised me not to burden you too
much with formalities. And so I am free to fly whither I will? Yes?

"Be happy, and God bless you; forgive me, a sinner.

"I am well, I am wasting money, doing all sorts of silly things,
and I thank God every minute that such a bad woman as I has no
children. I sing and have success, but it's not an infatuation; no,
it's my haven, my cell to which I go for peace. King David had a
ring with an inscription on it: 'All things pass.' When one is sad
those words make one cheerful, and when one is cheerful it makes
one sad. I have got myself a ring like th