"Why not?" Katya asked softly.
"Because for a painter, and in fact any man who lives for art, marriage is out of the question. An artist must be free."
"But in what way should I hinder you, Yegor Savvitch?"
"I am not speaking of myself, I am speaking in general. . . . Famous authors and painters have never married."
"And you, too, will be famous--I understand that perfectly. But put yourself in my place. I am afraid of my mother. She is stern and irritable. When she knows that you won't marry me, and that it's all nothing . . . she'll begin to give it to me. Oh, how wretched I am! And you haven't paid for your rooms, either! . . . ."
"Damn her! I'll pay."
Yegor Savvitch got up and began walking to and fro.
"I ought to be abroad!" he said. And the artist told her that nothing was easier than to go abroad. One need do nothing but paint a picture and sell it.
"Of course!" Katya assented. "Why haven't you painted one in the summer?"
"Do you suppose I can work in a barn like this?" the artist said ill-humouredly. "And where should I get models?"