Nadezhda smiled.
"Please go on," she said.
"I'm going to speak for him," said Peredonov. "He's bashful, he can't make up his mind to do it himself. He's a worthy, non-drinking, good man. He does not earn much, but that's nothing. Everyone needs a different thing—one needs money, another needs a man. Well, why don't you say something?" He turned to Volodin, "Say something!"
Volodin lowered his head and spoke in a trembling voice, like a bleating ram:
"It's true I don't earn high wages. But I shall always have my crumb of bread. It's true that I didn't go to a university, but I live as may God grant everyone to do. But I don't know anything against myself—and besides, let everyone judge for himself. But I, well, I'm satisfied with myself."
He spread out his arms, lowered his forehead as if he were about to butt and grew silent.
"And so, as you see," said Peredonov, "he's a young man. And he shouldn't live like this. He ought to marry. In any case the married man is always better off."
"And if his wife suits him, what can be better?" added Volodin.
"And you," continued Peredonov, "are a girl. You also ought to marry."
From behind the door there came a slight rustle, abrupt smothered sounds, as though someone were breathing or laughing with a closed mouth. Nadezhda looked sternly in the direction of the door and said coldly: