"Just listen!... Don't make too many grimaces about it! Take advantage of my being sober and friendly," said Grigori, in a louder and more threatening voice. "Will you forgive me?"
"You are drunk," said Matrona, sighing. "Go and have your sleep out."
"It's a lie! I am not drunk, but only tired.... I have been walking about and thinking ... I have thought of many things, my dear. So take care what you are about!"
He shook his finger at her menacingly, and a constrained smile played round his mouth.
"Why won't you speak?"
"I can't speak to you now."
"And why not pray?"
His face flushed suddenly, and he raised his voice. "It was you who made the row yesterday; you who shouted and scolded ... and I come now, and beg your forgiveness. Do you quite realize that?"
His manner whilst he spoke was excited, his lips quivered, and his nostrils dilated. Matrona knew only too well what these signs foreboded; the cellar, the Saturday night rows, all the dreariness of their empty life.
"I realize it only too plainly," she replied in a firm, decided voice. "You have become once more a wild beast! Ah! that it should be so!" "Whether I am a wild beast or not, that has nothing to do with the matter!... I ask you if you will forgive me? What do you imagine then?... Do you think I can't live without your forgiveness? Oh, I can get along very well without it ... but all the same I come and ask you to forgive.... Do you understand?..."