“Sin? Isn’t what I said all true? I know to a dot what I’m saying, and I mean to tell it straight out to the master. He should see with his own eyes. Why not? What can we do now anyhow? Where shall we go? He’s ruined us, ruined us.”
The old woman burst out sobbing.
Gerasim heard all that, and it stabbed him like a dagger. He realised what misfortune he would be bringing the old people, and it made him sick at heart. He stood there a long while, saddened, lost in thought, then he turned and went back into the coachman’s room.
“Ah, you forgot something?”
“No, Yegor Danilych.” Gerasim stammered out, “I’ve come—listen—I want to thank you ever and ever so much—for the way you received me—and—and all the trouble you took for me—but—I can’t take the place.”
“What! What does that mean?”
“Nothing. I don’t want the place. I will look for another one for myself.”
Yegor flew into a rage.
“Did you mean to make a fool of me, did you, you idiot? You come here so meek—‘Try for me, do try for me’—and then you refuse to take the place. You rascal, you have disgraced me!”
Gerasim found nothing to say in reply. He reddened, and lowered his eyes. Yegor turned his back scornfully and said nothing more.