an intolerable burden to me!--but the
thought of my daughter, of my Adotchka, held me back; she is here, she
is asleep in the adjoining room, poor child! She is weary,--you shall see
her: she, at least, is not guilty toward you,--and I am so unhappy, so
unhappy!"--exclaimed Mme. Lavretzky, and burst into tears.

Lavretzky came to himself, at last; he separated himself from the wall,
and moved toward the door.

"You are going away?"--said his wife, in despair:--"oh, this is
cruel!--Without saying one word to me, without even one reproach.... This
scorn is killing me, this is terrible!"

Lavretzky stopped short.

"What is it that you wish to hear from me?"--he uttered, in a toneless
voice.

"Nothing, nothing,"--she caught him up with vivacity:--"I know that I
have no right to demand anything;--I am not a fool, believe me;--I do not
hope, I do not dare to hope for your forgiveness;--I only venture to
entreat you, that you will give me directions what I am to do, where I am
to live?--I will fulfil your command, whatever it may be, like a slave."

"I have no commands to give you,"--returned Lavretzky, in the same
voice:--"you know, that everything is at an end between us ... and now
more than ever.--You may live where you see fit;--and if your allowance
is insufficient...."

"Akh, do not utter such dreadful words,"--Varvara Pavlovna interrupted
him:--"spare me, if only ... if only for the sake of that angel...." And,
as she said these words, Varvara Pavlovna flew headlong into the next
room, and immediately returned with a tiny, very elegantly dressed little
girl in her arms. Heavy, ruddy-gold curls fell over her pretty, rosy
little face, over her large, black, sleepy eyes; she smiled, and blinked
at the light, and clung with her chubby hand to her mother's neck.

"_Ada, vois, c'est ton pere_,"--said Varvara Pavlovna, pushing the
curls aside from her eyes, and giving her a hearty kiss:--"_prie le avec
moi_."

"_C'est ca, papa?_"--lisped the little girl, brokenly.

"_Oui, mon enfant, n'est ce pas, que tu l'aimes?_"

But this was too much for Lavretzky.

"In what melodrama is it that there is precisely such a scene?"--he
muttered, and left the room.

Varvara Pavlovna stood for a while rooted to the spot, slightly
shrugged her shoulders, carried the little girl into the other room,
undressed her, and put her to bed. Then she got a book, sat down near the
lamp, waited for about an hour, and, at last, lay down on