"Antosha, don't forget yourself! Don't forget to-morrow. I'm going to the gymnasia, and if it's true I'll hand you over to your mother for a whipping!"
"I wasn't mischievous. He's a liar," said Antosha piteously and in a squeaking voice.
"Antosha, don't forget yourself," shouted his father. "You shouldn't say that he's a liar, but that he's made a mistake. Only little boys tell lies—grown-ups make mistakes."
In the meantime Peredonov managed to find his way into the half-dark hall, discovered his overcoat with some difficulty and began to put it on. His fear and nervousness hindered him from finding his sleeve. No one came to his assistance. Quite suddenly Julia ran out from a side door, rustling her flying ribbons, and whispered excitedly in his ear, making wild gestures and standing on tip-toe. Peredonov did not at first understand.
"I'm so grateful to you," he heard at last. "It's so good of you to take such an interest in the boy. Most people are so indifferent, but you understand a mother's difficulties. It is so hard to bring children up; you can't imagine how hard it is. I have only two and they give me no end of worry. My husband is a tyrant; he's a terrible, terrible man. Don't you think so? You've seen for yourself."
"Yes," mumbled Peredonov. "Well, your husband—er—well, he shouldn't ... I give a good deal of attention to it and he ..."
"Oh, don't say any more," whispered Julia, "he's a terrible man. He's bringing me down to my grave, and he'll be glad of it, and then he'll corrupt my children, my dear Antosha. But I'm a mother, I won't give him up; I'll give him a beating all the same."
"He won't let you," said Peredonov, and jerked his head in the direction of the drawing-room.
"Wait till he goes to his club. He won't take Antosha with him! He'll go and I shall keep quiet until then, as if I agreed with him; but once he goes I'll give Antosha a beating and you will help me. You will help me, won't you?"
Peredonov reflected and then said: