Matrona also quickly realized what she had become to him, and tried constantly to strengthen her growing influence over him. Without her being conscious of it herself, her busy useful life in the Infirmary had sensibly increased her own self-respect It was not in her disposition to reflect over the past or to grumble about things, but when she thought of her former life in the dark cellar, of its narrow round of cares, of her husband and of her trade, she, in spite of herself, could not help contrasting that past with her present condition; and the dim pictures of her former existence melted into an ever more and more distant and misty background. The authorities at the Infirmary valued her because of her quickness and willingness, and every one behaved kindly to her. Being treated as a human being was such a new experience to her, that her spirits rose, and her enjoyment of life was heightened.
Once, when she was on night duty, the stout lady doctor began to question her about her former life. Matrona told her everything quite openly, and without constraint; then she ceased suddenly, and smiled a curious sort of smile.
"Why do you smile?" asked the lady doctor.
"I can't help smiling when I think how bitter my life was.... You will scarcely believe me, but I had no notion then how sad and bitter it was.... It is only now that I begin to understand."
This looking back on her past life roused a new feeling in Matrona's breast against her husband. She cared for Grigori as much as ever, and showed him all the tenderness of a loving wife; but it appeared to her at the same time that Grigori was guilty toward her. Sometimes when talking to him she would adopt almost a protective tone, for his constant restlessness made her feel sorry for him. Now and then a doubt arose in her mind as to whether it would ever be possible to lead a quiet, peaceful life with him, though she still held steadfastly to the belief that Grigori would, in the end, settle down, and throw off his despondency.
According to the ordinary course of events they ought gradually to have grown accustomed to each other, and reconciled to their every-day life in common. They were both young, strong and industrious, and many in a similar position would have been contented to go on from day to day, leading the grey, cheerless life of the ordinary worker—the life of poverty, alternating with starvation—their energies completely absorbed in the task of providing their daily bread. But this ordinary existence was rendered impossible by the unrest which Grigori carried in his heart, and which prevented him from reconciling his inmost soul with the monotony of a daily task.
[CHAPTER VIII]
One dreary September morning the ambulance-van drew up in the courtyard of the Infirmary, and Pronim lifted from it another victim of the epidemic, a yellow-faced, emaciated, half-dead little lad in motley clothes, stained with many colours.
"Another case from Petounukoff's house!" said the driver of the van in answer to a question as to the quarter from which he had brought the new patient.