The visitor gave a sigh, with trembling hands twisted the things up in her handkerchief, and went out without uttering a word, without even nodding her head.

The door from the next room opened and Kolpakov walked in. He was pale and kept shaking his head nervously, as though he had swallowed something very bitter; tears were glistening in his eyes.

“What presents did you make me?” Pasha asked, pouncing upon him. “When did you, allow me to ask you?”

“Presents… that’s no matter!” said Kolpakov, and he tossed his head. “My God! She cried before you, she humbled herself.…”

“I am asking you, what presents did you make me?” Pasha cried.

My God! She, a lady, so pure.… She was ready to go down on her knees to… to this wench! And I’ve brought her to this! I’ve allowed it!”

He clutched his head in his hands and moaned.

“No, I shall never forgive myself for this! I shall never forgive myself! Get away from me… you low creature!” he cried with repulsion, backing away from Pasha, and thrusting her off with trembling hands. “She would have gone down on her knees, and… and to you! Oh, my God!”

He rapidly dressed, and pushing Pasha aside contemptuously, made for the door and went out.

Pasha lay down and began wailing aloud. She was already regretting her things which she had given away so impulsively, and her feelings were hurt. She remembered how three years ago a merchant had beaten her for no sort of reason, and she wailed more loudly than ever.