"I'm not going to leave," said Matrona in a quiet restrained voice.
The doctor watched them both with astonished eyes, not knowing what to make of it all.
"You are either drunk, or mad!" he said to Grischka. "Do you understand yet what you are doing?"
Grischka either could not or would not give in; he felt he had gone too far. So he retorted in a tone of would-be irony—
"You ask if I know what I am doing?... But do you know yourself what you are doing? Disinfecting? Ha! ha!... and curing the sick people; whilst those who are well are dying from the stress and misery of life!... Matrona, I'll knock your head off if you don't come with me!"
"I shall not go with you!"
She stood there, white and motionless; but the expression in her eyes was cold and resolute, as she looked her husband in the face. This look had the effect of damping his heroics, his head sunk on his breast, and he turned silently away.
"Devil take him!" said the doctor. "There's no making head or tail of what he means!... Just listen, my good fellow. Be off with you as quickly as you can, and thank your lucky stars that I let you off so easily! I might have given you over to the police, you fool! Now, be off!"
Grischka cast a lowering look at the doctor. He would rather have been beaten, or given into custody; but the doctor was a kind-hearted man, and could see that Orloff was not at the present moment responsible for his actions.
"For the last time; are you coming with me?" Grischka asked his wife, in a hoarse voice.