“Impossible!”
“True, I swear; as good a girl as any good family might wish.”
“Then, brother, why—why—why had she had to undergo all that torture? Why had Philka Marosof slandered her so?”
“Yes, why, indeed?”
“Well, I got down from the bed, and went on my knees before her, and put my hands together as if I were praying, and just said to her, ‘Little mother, pet, Akoulka Koudimovna, forgive me for having been such an idiot as to believe all that slander; forgive me. I’m a hound!’
“She was seated on the bed, and gazed at me fixedly. She put her two hands on my shoulders and began to laugh; but the tears were running all down her cheeks. She sobbed and laughed all at once.
“Then I went out and said to the people in the other room, ‘Let Philka Marosof look to himself. If I come across him he won’t be long for this world.’
“The old people were beside themselves with delight. Akoulka’s mother was ready to throw herself at her daughter’s feet, and sobbed.
“Then the old man said, ‘If we had known really how it was, my dearest child, we wouldn’t have given you a husband of that sort.’
“You ought to have seen how we were dressed the first Sunday after our marriage—when we left church! I’d got a long coat of fine cloth, a fur cap, with plush breeches. She had a pelisse of hareskin, quite new, and a silk kerchief on her head. One was as fine as the other. Everybody admired us. I must say I looked well, and pet Akoulka did too. One oughtn’t to boast, but one oughtn’t to sing small. I tell you people like us are not turned out by the dozen.”