hed cotton. But what are the profits,
and how do they enjoy them? Madame Lyalikov and her daughter are
unhappy--it makes one wretched to look at them; the only one who
enjoys her life is Christina Dmitryevna, a stupid, middle-aged
maiden lady in pince-nez. And so it appears that all these five
blocks of buildings are at work, and inferior cotton is sold in the
Eastern markets, simply that Christina Dmitryevna may eat sterlet
and drink Madeira."

Suddenly there came a strange noise, the same sound Korolyov had
heard before supper. Some one was striking on a sheet of metal near
one of the buildings; he struck a note, and then at once checked
the vibrations, so that short, abrupt, discordant sounds were
produced, rather like "Dair . . . dair . . . dair. . . ." Then there
was half a minute of stillness, and from another building there
came sounds equally abrupt and unpleasant, lower bass notes: "Drin
. . . drin . . . drin. . ." Eleven times. Evidently it was the
watchman striking the hour. Near the third building he heard: "Zhuk
. . . zhuk . . . zhuk. . . ." And so near all the buildings, and
then behind the barracks and beyond the gates. And in the stillness
of the night it seemed as though these sounds were uttered by a
monster with crimson eyes--the devil himself, who controlled the
owners and the work-people alike, and was deceiving both.

Korolyov went out of the yard into the open country.

"Who goes there?" some one called to him at the gates in an abrupt
voice.

"It's just like being in prison," he thought, and made no answer.

Here the nightingales and the frogs could be heard more distinctly,
and one could feel it was a night in May. From the station came the
noise of a train; somewhere in the distance drowsy cocks were
crowing; but, all the same, the night was still, the world was
sleeping tranquilly. In a field not far from the factory there could
be seen the framework of a house and heaps of building material:

Korolyov sat down on the planks and went on thinking.

"The only person who feels happy here is the governess, and the
factory hands are working for her gratification. But that's only
apparent: she is only the figurehead. The real person, for whom
everything is being done, is the devil."

And he thought about the devil, in whom he did not believe, and he
looked round at the two windows where the fires were gleaming. It
seemed to him that out of those crimson eyes the devil himself was
looking