Yevsey rose from the table, feeling as if a cold stream of insult had been poured over him. He inclined his head and mumbled:
"I'll never tell anything about you—to nobody. I love you very much, and—even if you choked him, I wouldn't tell anybody. That's how I love you."
He shuffled to the door, but the woman's hands caught him like warm white wings, and turned him back.
"Did I insult you?" he heard. "Well, excuse me. If you knew what a devil he is, how he tortures me, and how I hate him. Dear me!" She pressed his face tightly to her breast, and kissed him twice. "So you love me?"
"Yes," whispered Yevsey, feeling himself turning around lightly in a hot whirlpool of unknown bliss.
"How?"
"I don't know. I love you very much."
Laughing and fondling him, she said:
"You'll tell me about it. Ah, you little baby!"
Going down the stairs he heard her satisfied laugh, and smiled in response. His head turned, his entire body was suffused with sweet lassitude. He walked quietly and cautiously, as if afraid of spilling the hot joy of his heart.