Things went on like this for another month. And then one evening, as Cain was preparing to return home, he met Artyom. The handsome giant nodding to him, beckoned him with his finger. Cain ran up to him; he saw that Artyom was in a morose and gloomy frame of mind, looking like an autumnal cloud.

“You have finished your day’s work?” he asked.

“Yes, I was just going home.”

“Wait. Come with me a little way. I have something to say to you,” said Artyom in a smothered voice.

Huge and heavy, he began walking on in front, while Cain followed at his heels.

They left the street, and took the path that led to the river, and Artyom soon found a suitable spot at the bottom of the ravine, close to the water’s edge.

“Sit down,” he said to Cain.

The Jew sat down, casting a sidelong, timid glance towards his protector. Artyom lowered himself to the ground, and then began slowly rolling a cigarette, while Cain looked first at the sky, and then at the forest of masts on the farther side of the river, and at the quiet waves, which seemed almost as if petrified amid the evening silence; and all the while he was wondering what Artyom could have to say to him.

“Well,” said Artyom, “you’re getting on?”

“Oh, yes, all goes well. I am not afraid of anything now.”

“That’s as it should be.”

“I have you to thank for it.”

“Wait!” said Artyom.

But a long time elapsed before he spoke; he sat puffing at his cigarette and breathing hard, while the Jew, full of cruel presentiments, sat waiting his words.

“And so they have left off hurting and insulting you?”

“Yes, they are afraid of you. They are like so many dogs, while you—you are like a lion. And I, now—”

“Wait!”

“What is it? What have you got to say to me?” asked Cain, fearfully.

“What have I got to say to you? It is not so simple.”

“What is it, then?”

“Well, let us speak openly—say all that there is to be said—and get it over.”

“Get what over?”

“I must tell you that I can no longer—”

“What is it that you can no longer? How?”

“I cannot go on with it. It disgusts me. It is not the right kind of thing for me,” said Artyom, sighing.