"I understand, of course, but you must make allowances. You know my wife is nervous, headstrong; you mustn't judge her too harshly."
Mashenka did not speak.
"If you are so offended," Nikolay Sergeitch went on, "well, if you like, I'm ready to apologise. I ask your pardon."
Mashenka made no answer, but only bent lower over her box. This exhausted, irresolute man was of absolutely no significance in the household. He stood in the pitiful position of a dependent and hanger-on, even with the servants, and his apology meant nothing either.
"H'm!... You say nothing! That's not enough for you. In that case, I will apologise for my wife. In my wife's name.... She behaved tactlessly, I admit it as a gentleman...."
Nikolay Sergeitch walked about the room, heaved a sigh, and went on:
"Then you want me to have it rankling here, under my heart.... You want my conscience to torment me...."
"I know it's not your fault, Nikolay Sergeitch," said Mashenka, looking him full in the face with her big tear-stained eyes. "Why should you worry yourself?"
"Of course, no.... But still, don't you ... go away. I entreat you."
Mashenka shook her head. Nikolay Sergeitch stopped at the window and drummed on the pane with his finger-tips.