At last came the morning of the dreaded day. Both rose early, that Pushkin might not be late in starting. Just as he was getting into his fur coat, Bethsaba, throwing herself on his breast, said, tremblingly:
"I cannot let you go without confessing a sin which I have committed against you."
"Against me? What can that be?"
"I have been jealous."
"About this journey?"
"Yes."
"You are a little goose! Are you always going to be jealous when I go away for a day or two?"
"Only this time. I had been told that you were going to visit your old love, and that is why you wanted to go alone."
"Was it Galban who gave you this information?"
"He said so when he was here. I asked him the lady's name. He answered me he would tell it me if I asked it again. When I saw you making ready for departure, jealousy revived in me in all its strength. I lost my judgment. Kill me! Trample me underfoot! I wrote to Galban, entreating him to tell me the name of her for love of whom my husband was leaving me, and asked him to prove to me in writing the statement he had made by word of mouth. Read what he answers."