"Well, how are you getting on?"
"Oh," he sighs, "three pupils already!"
"And that is all we have to depend on?" she asks sadly.
"Ma!" he answers with gentle reproach.
"God be praised!" she is consoling herself and him together.
"God be praised; but that only makes one hundred and twenty rubles," he sighs.
"Well, why do you sigh?"
"Add it up," he answers; "one ruble a week rent, that's twenty-six rubles a season. And then I'm in debt—there were wedding expenses."
"What do you mean?" she asks astonished.
He smiles.