o o'clock in the morning, and not let
them get to bed, and, worse still, he permitted himself to talk of
things about which he should have been silent. When towards two
o'clock in the morning he had drunk too much vodka and champagne,
he would take Mishutka in his arms, and weeping, say to him, before
Groholsky and Liza:

"Mihail, my son, what am I? I . . . am a scoundrel. I have sold
your mother! Sold her for thirty pieces of silver, may the Lord
punish me! Mihail Ivanitch, little sucking pig, where is your mother?
Lost! Gone! Sold into slavery! Well, I am a scoundrel."

These tears and these words turned Groholsky's soul inside out. He
would look timidly at Liza's pale face and wring his hands.

"Go to bed, Ivan Petrovitch," he would say timidly.

"I am going. . . . Come along, Mishutka. . . . The Lord be our
judge! I cannot think of sleep while I know that my wife is a slave
. . . . But it is not Groholsky's fault. . . . The goods were mine,
the money his. . . . Freedom for the free and Heaven for the saved."

By day Ivan Petrovitch was no less insufferable to Groholsky. To
Groholsky's intense horror, he was always at Liza's side. He went
fishing with her, told her stories, walked with her, and even on
one occasion, taking advantage of Groholsky's having a cold, carried
her off in his carriage, goodness knows where, and did not bring
her back till night!

"It's outrageous, inhuman," thought Groholsky, biting his lips.

Groholsky liked to be continually kissing Liza. He could not exist
without those honeyed kisses, and it was awkward to kiss her before
Ivan Petrovitch. It was agony. The poor fellow felt forlorn, but
fate soon had compassion on him. Ivan Petrovitch suddenly went off
somewhere for a whole week. Visitors had come and carried him off
with them . . . And Mishutka was taken too.

One fine morning Groholsky came home from a walk good-humoured and
beaming.

"He has come," he said to Liza, rubbing his hands. "I am very glad
he has come. Ha-ha-ha!"

"What are you laughing at?"

"There are women with him."

"What women?"

"I don't know. . . . It's a good thing he has got women. . . . A
capital thing, in fact. . . . He is still young and fresh. Come
here! Look!"

Groholsky led Liza on to the verandah, and pointed to the villa
opposite. They both held their sides, and roared with laughter. It
was funny. Ivan Petrovitch was standing on the verandah of the villa
opposite, smiling. Two dark-haired