othouse manners and the most degrading
superstition."

"The peasant and the tradesman feed you."

"Yes, but what of it? That's not only to my discredit, but to theirs
too. They feed me and take off their caps to me, so it seems they
have not the intelligence and honesty to do otherwise. I don't blame
or praise any one: I only mean that the upper class and the lower
are as bad as one another. My feelings and my intelligence are
opposed to both, but my tastes lie more in the direction of the
former. Well, now for the evils of marriage," Orlov went on, glancing
at his watch. "It's high time for you to understand that there are
no evils in the system itself; what is the matter is that you don't
know yourselves what you want from marriage. What is it you want?
In legal and illegal cohabitation, in every sort of union and
cohabitation, good or bad, the underlying reality is the same. You
ladies live for that underlying reality alone: for you it's everything;
your existence would have no meaning for you without it. You want
nothing but that, and you get it; but since you've taken to reading
novels you are ashamed of it: you rush from pillar to post, you
recklessly change your men, and to justify this turmoil you have
begun talking of the evils of marriage. So long as you can't and
won't renounce what underlies it all, your chief foe, your devil
--so long as you serve that slavishly, what use is there in
discussing the matter seriously? Everything you may say to me will
be falsity and affectation. I shall not believe you."

I went to find out from the hall porter whether the sledge was at
the door, and when I came back I found it had become a quarrel. As
sailors say, a squall had blown up.

"I see you want to shock me by your cynicism today," said Zinaida
Fyodorovna, walking about the drawing-room in great emotion. "It
revolts me to listen to you. I am pure before God and man, and have
nothing to repent of. I left my husband and came to you, and am
proud of it. I swear, on my honour, I am proud of it!"

"Well, that's all right, then!"

"If you are a decent, honest man, you, too, ought to be proud of
what I did. It raises you and me above thousands of people who would
like to do as we have done, but do not venture through cowardice
or petty prudence. But you are not a decent man. You are afraid of
freedom, and you mock the promptings of genuine feeling, from fear
that some ignoramus may suspect you of being sincere. You