Peredonov understood Vershina's mumbling speech with some difficulty; her meaning peered out through all her circumlocutions. Vershina was afraid to speak loudly and clearly. Someone might hear if she spoke loudly, and tell Varvara, who would not hesitate to make a scene. And Peredonov himself might get into a rage if she spoke clearly, and even beat her. It was better to hint, so that he might guess the truth. But Peredonov did not rise to the occasion. It had happened before that he had been told to his face of the deception practised on him; yet he never grasped the fact that the letters had been forged, and kept on thinking that it was the Princess who was fooling him, leading him by the nose.
At last Vershina said bluntly:
"You think the Princess wrote those letters? Why, all the town knows that they were fabricated by Grushina at your wife's request; the Princess knows nothing about it. Ask anyone you like; everyone knows—they gave the thing away themselves. And then Varvara Dmitrievna stole the letters from you and burnt them so as to leave no traces."
Dark, oppressive thoughts stirred in Peredonov's brain. He understood only one thing—that he had been fooled. But that the Princess knew nothing of it could not enter his head—yes, she knew. No wonder she had come out of the fire alive.
"It's a lie about the Princess," he said. "I tried to burn the Princess, but did not succeed in burning her up; she spat out an exorcism."
Suddenly a furious rage seized Peredonov. Fooled! He struck the table savagely with his fist, tore himself from his place, and without saying good-bye to Vershina walked home quickly. Vershina looked after him with malignant joy, and the black clouds of smoke flew quickly from her dark mouth, and swirled away in the wind.
Rage consumed Peredonov. But when he saw Varvara, he was seized with a painful dread, which prevented him from uttering a word.
On the next morning Peredonov got ready a small garden knife, which he carefully kept in a leather sheath in his pocket. He spent the whole morning until luncheon at Volodin's. He looked at Volodin working, and made absurd remarks. Volodin was glad, as usual, that Peredonov fussed about him, and he accepted Peredonov's silly talk as wit.
That whole day the nedotikomka wheeled around Peredonov. It would not let him go to sleep after lunch. It completely tired him out. When, towards evening, he had almost fallen asleep, he was awakened by a mischievous woman who appeared from some place unknown to him. She was pug-nosed, amorphous, and as she walked up to his bed she muttered:
"The Kvass must be crushed out, the tarts must be taken out of the oven, the meat must be roasted."