s, 5,000."

In this "anonymous" there was something wrong, false, conceited, but
I only realized that when I noticed that my wife flushed very red and
hurriedly thrust the list into the heap of papers. We both felt ashamed;
I felt that I must at all costs efface this clumsiness at once, or else
I should feel ashamed afterwards, in the train and at Petersburg. But
how efface it? What was I to say?

"I fully approve of what you are doing, Natalie," I said genuinely, "and
I wish you every success. But allow me at parting to give you one
piece of advice, Natalie; be on your guard with Sobol, and with your
assistants generally, and don't trust them blindly. I don't say they are
not honest, but they are not gentlefolks; they are people with no ideas,
no ideals, no faith, with no aim in life, no definite principles, and
the whole object of their life is comprised in the rouble. Rouble,
rouble, rouble!" I sighed. "They are fond of getting money easily, for
nothing, and in that respect the better educated they are the more they
are to be dreaded."

My wife went to the couch and lay down.

"Ideas," she brought out, listlessly and reluctantly, "ideas, ideals,
objects of life, principles....you always used to use those words when
you wanted to insult or humiliate some one, or say something unpleasant.
Yes, that's your way: if with your views and such an attitude to people
you are allowed to take part in anything, you would destroy it from the
first day. It's time you understand that."

She sighed and paused.

"It's coarseness of character, Pavel Andreitch," she said. "You are
well-bred and educated, but what a... Scythian you are in reality!
That's because you lead a cramped life full of hatred, see no one, and
read nothing but your engineering books. And, you know, there are good
people, good books! Yes... but I am exhausted and it wearies me to talk.
I ought to be in bed."

"So I am going away, Natalie," I said.

"Yes... yes.... _Merci_...."

I stood still for a little while, then went upstairs. An hour later--it
was half-past one--I went downstairs again with a candle in my hand to
speak to my wife. I didn't know what I was going to say to her, but I
felt that I must say some thing very important and necessary. She was
not in her study, the door leading to her bedroom was closed.

"Natalie, are you asleep?" I asked softly.

There was no answer.

I stood near the door, sighed, and went into the drawing-room. There