He heaved a profound sigh as if ridding himself of a heavy burden, and turning his back upon them, returned to his seat.

“Well spoken!” exclaimed the Ragged Bridegroom in a low voice; and as he saw Artyom take his place opposite Cain, he made a mournful grimace.

Cain, pale with emotion, still seated at the table, never took his eyes off Artyom, and as he gazed, they grew larger and were full of an indescribable expression.

“Did you hear that?” Artyom asked him in a stern voice. “You understand, then, that if anyone touches you, you only have to run and tell me. I will come and break his bones for him.”

The Jew muttered something—he was either praying to God or thanking the man. The Ragged Bridegroom and his gang whispered together, and then one by one they went out. The Bridegroom hummed as he passed in front of Artyom’s table:

and then looking straight at Artyom, he suddenly wound up his song with words of his own, making a wry face the while, and beating time with his foot:

and turning quickly to the door, he disappeared.

Artyom swore and looked round the room—only three people were left in the dim, smoky, ill-smelling place—himself, Cain, and Savka at the bar.

Savka’s foxy eyes met Artyom’s gloomy look, and his long face assumed an expression of mawkish piety.

“You have done an excellent and magnificent thing, Artyom Mikhailovich!” he said, stroking his beard. “You have acted according to the gospel precepts, quite like the good Samaritan. Cain was covered with sores—and you turned not away from him.”

Artyom took no notice of the words, but he heard their echo, and this echo, reflected by the vaulted ceiling, went floating through the foul air, and crawled into his ears. Artyom was silent and kept gently shaking his head, as if to drive the sound away from him. But the words still lingered on the air, penetrated his ears, irritating him. A heavy gloom fell upon him, and some strange weight seemed to crush his heart.

He stared at Cain, who found his tea too hot and was blowing on it in the saucer. The Jew, bending over the table, drank with avidity, holding the saucer with trembling hands. Now and again Artyom caught Cain looking furtively at him, and as the athlete felt the Jew’s gaze upon him, he grew more depressed still. A dull feeling of discontent, for which he could assign no cause, more and more took possession of him; a deeper gloom settled in his eyes, and he looked wildly about him. Unspoken thoughts were turning round and round in his head like mill-stones. Formerly his thoughts had never troubled him, but they had come to him during his illness, and he could not shake them off.

The windows resembled those of a prison, being provided with iron bars, and through them came the deafening noise of the street. Overhead were the heavy damp stones of the arched vault; the brick floor was slippery with mud and covered with refuse; and there was the little scared figure all in rags.…He sat, trembled, and said nothing.…And out there in the country it would soon be time for mowing. Already, on the farther side of the river, in the fields facing the town, the grass came up to a man’s waist, and when a breeze floated over from them, it carried such tempting odors.…