He turned to the wall.
Pavel Semenovich modestly and questioningly looked at me with his naïve gray eyes, and began in a lower tone:
“There’s a street in Tikhodol called Bolotnaya (Swamp Street). They built a house on it near me.... New and of fresh wood.... The first year it shone so, and then it lost its freshness. It got covered with that especial dirt and weathering and rubbish. Then it got the same color as the old stables and sheds and you couldn’t tell it from them. Now they say it’s haunted.... The people suddenly said that Budnikov had robbed a woman.”
“That’s absolute nonsense,” called the mathematician. “I’ll never believe that Budnikov was a robber. That’s some stupid rumor.”
Pavel Semenovich smiled sadly and rather distractedly:
“That’s what he was. A robber!... A robber is the word, ... precisely! But it was just a little personal ... tangle with rather vague outlines.... You see.... I must tell you that since your time a mother and daughter moved in.... The women were simple and very poor and M. Budnikov was their protector and friend. They ran in debt for a long time, and he—always so strict in affairs of this kind—stood it, and even gave them money. For the doctor or for better food, when one was sick. Finally the old woman died and Yelena became an orphan. M. Budnikov became very sympathetic, gave her a pleasant little home, and got her work; she sewed,—got along somehow.... Then she became a sort of housekeeper for M. Budnikov, and then,—people began to say that their relations became more intimate....”
“Oh, oh!” yawned the mathematician. “They didn’t need me for that.... Was she pretty?”
“Yes, rather pretty; fat, with flowing graceful movements and mild eyes. They said she was stupid. But, if she was, a woman’s stupidity is often very peculiar.... A naïve and sleeping innocence of soul. She felt her situation very keenly. As is said in Uspensky, she was all shame.... M. Budnikov tried to teach her and lift her up, so to speak, to his level. She seemed incapable of it. She sat usually with a book, spelled it out with her fingers, and her face was interested like a child’s. She seemed to become dull and stupid when Budnikov was around. He got sick of her actions and then of Yelena, especially as other things took up his attention. But there was a time when he almost loved her. At least there were indications of it. In a word, the breach was not easy for him,—his conscience troubled him and he wanted to silence it. He finally decided to give her a ticket of the domestic lottery.... He called her, took out three tickets, put them on the table, placed his hand on them, and said:
“‘Look here, Yelena. One of these tickets may win you two hundred thousand. Do you understand?’