Not for a moment or two does she answer; and when she does so she answers as though the words have been rehearsed.
"Not particularly. It is that he is a strong young fellow who has lost his way, and is too much of a fool (as you too must have seen) to find it again. So I am very sorry for him. A good muzhik ought to be well placed."
On the bell of the church there strikes the hour of two. Without interrupting herself, the woman crosses her breast at each stroke.
"Always," she continues, "I feel sorry when I see a fine young fellow going to the dogs. If I were able, I would take all such young men, and restore them to the right road."
"Then you are not sorry FOR YOURSELF?"
"Not for myself? Oh yes, for myself as well."
"Then why flaunt yourself before this booby, as you have been doing?"
"Because I might reform him. Do you not think so? Ah, you do not know me."
A sigh escapes her.
"He hit you, I think?" I venture.