Peredonov no longer pronounced exorcisms—let the worst come. He would triumph over everything; he had only to be on his guard and not yield.
Once at home, sitting in the dining-room and drinking with Volodin, Peredonov told him about the Princess.
The Princess, according to Peredonov, grew more decrepit and terrible from day to day; yellow, wrinkled, bent, tusked, evil, she incessantly haunted Peredonov.
"She's two hundred years old," said Peredonov, looking strangely and gloomily before him, "and she wants me to make it up with her again. Until then she won't give me a job."
"She certainly wants a good deal," said Volodin shaking his head. "The old hag!"
Peredonov brooded over murder. He said to Volodin, frowning savagely:
"I've got one hidden behind the wall-paper. And I'm going to kill another under the floor."
But Volodin was not afraid, and kept on sniggering.
"Do you smell the stench from behind the wall-paper?" asked Peredonov.
"No, I don't smell it," said Volodin, still sniggering and grimacing.