"But will the gods be suddenly wrathful?" Kovrin jested; and he laughed. "If they take from me comfort and make me go cold and hungry, it won't be very much to my taste."
Meanwhile Tanya woke up and looked with amazement and horror at her husband. He was talking, addressing the arm-chair, laughing and gesticulating; his eyes were gleaming, and there was something strange in his laugh.
"Andryusha, whom are you talking to?" she asked, clutching the hand he stretched out to the monk. "Andryusha! Whom?"
"Oh! Whom?" said Kovrin in confusion. "Why, to him.... He is sitting here," he said, pointing to the black monk.
"There is no one here ... no one! Andryusha, you are ill!"
Tanya put her arm round her husband and held him tight, as though protecting him from the apparition, and put her hand over his eyes.
"You are ill!" she sobbed, trembling all over. "Forgive me, my precious, my dear one, but I have noticed for a long time that your mind is clouded in some way.... You are mentally ill, Andryusha...."
Her trembling infected him, too. He glanced once more at the arm-chair, which was now empty, felt a sudden weakness in his arms and legs, was frightened, and began dressing.
"It's nothing, Tanya; it's nothing," he muttered, shivering. "I really am not quite well ... it's time to admit that."
"I have noticed it for a long time ... and father has noticed it," she said, trying to suppress her sobs. "You talk to yourself, smile somehow strangely ... and can't sleep. Oh, my God, my God, save us!" she said in terror. "But don't be frightened, Andryusha; for God's sake don't be frightened...."