my imagination, which
incessantly, with extraordinary vivacity, drew pictures before my eyes,
each more cynical than its predecessor, which kindled my jealousy.
And always the same things about what was happening at home during
my absence. I burned with indignation, with rage, and with a peculiar
feeling which steeped me in humiliation, as I contemplated these
pictures. And I could not tear myself out of this condition. I could
not help looking at them, I could not efface them, I could not keep from
evoking them.

"The more I looked at these imaginary pictures, the more I believed
in their reality, forgetting that they had no serious foundation. The
vivacity of these images seemed to prove to me that my imaginations
were a reality. One would have said that a demon, against my will,
was inventing and breathing into me the most terrible fictions.
A conversation which dated a long time back, with the brother of
Troukhatchevsky, I remembered at that moment, in a sort of ecstasy, and
it tore my heart as I connected it with the musician and my wife. Yes,
it was very long ago. The brother of Troukhatchevsky, answering my
questions as to whether he frequented disreputable houses, said that a
respectable man does not go where he may contract a disease, in a low
and unclean spot, when one can find an honest woman. And here he, his
brother, the musician, had found the honest woman. 'It is true that she
is no longer in her early youth. She has lost a tooth on one side, and
her face is slightly bloated,' thought I for Troukhatchevsky. 'But what
is to be done? One must profit by what one has.'

"'Yes, he is bound to take her for his mistress,' said I to myself
again; 'and besides, she is not dangerous.'

"'No, it is not possible' I rejoined in fright. 'Nothing, nothing of the
kind has happened, and there is no reason to suppose there has. Did she
not tell me that the very idea that I could be jealous of her because of
him was humiliating to her?' 'Yes, but she lied,' I cried, and all began
over again.

"There were only two travellers in my compartment: an old woman with her
husband, neither of them very talkative; and even they got out at one of
the stations, leaving me all alone. I was like a beast in a cage. Now I
jumped up and approached the window, now I began to walk back and forth,
staggering as if I hoped to make the train go faster by my efforts, and
the car with its seats and its windows trembled continually, as ours
do