"Thou hast done well, O Lord," I said, "but it is only just and right, what Thou hast done."
Oh, the miserable paganism of it!
The winter passed like one long day of joy. One day Olga confided to me that she was to become a mother. It was a new happiness for us. My father-in-law murmured something indistinctly and my mother-in-law looked with pity at my wife.
I began to think of bettering my condition a little; I decided to have a beehive, and I called it "Larion's Garden," so that it should bring me luck. Also, I planned to have a vegetable garden, and to breed song-birds, and I thought of doing things which would bring no harm to man. One day Titoff said to me, quite harshly:
"You have become so sugar-coated, Matvei; see that you do not get sour. You will have a child in the summer. Have you forgotten that?"
I had already wished to tell him the truth as I understood it then, so I said to him:
"I have sinned as much as I wished. I have become like you in sins—just as you desired. But to become worse than you, that I will not."
"I do not understand what you mean," he answered. "I only want to explain to you that seventy-two rubles a year for a man and a family is not much; and I will not permit you to squander my daughter's dowry. You must consider things well. Your wisdom is in reality hatred of me because I am more clever than you. But that will help neither you nor me. Each one is a saint just so long as the devil doesn't catch him."
I could have beaten him well, but out of consideration for Olga I restrained myself.
In the village it was known that I did not get on well with my father-in-law, and the people began to look at me in a friendlier way. As for myself, happiness had made me more gentle, and Olga, too, was mild and good of heart.