that you are good and never shout at Mother, but he only shakes his head."
"Does he say those very words: that I ruined her?"
"Yes. Don't be offended, Nicolai Ilyich!"
Byelyaev got up, stood still a moment, and then began to walk about the drawing-room.
"This is strange, and . . . funny," he murmured, shrugging his shoulders and smiling ironically. "He is to blame all round, and now I've ruined her, eh? What an innocent lamb! Did he say those very words to you: that I ruined your mother?"
"Yes, but . . . you said that you wouldn't get offended."
"I'm not offended, and . . . and it's none of your business! No, it . . . it's quite funny though. I fell into the trap, yet I'm to be blamed as well."
The bell rang. The boy dashed from his place and ran out. In a minute a lady entered the room with a little girl. It was Olga Ivanovna, Alyosha's mother. After her, hopping, humming noisily, and waving his hands, followed Alyosha.
"Of course, who is there to accuse except me?" he murmured, sniffing. "He's right, he's the injured husband."
"What's the matter?" asked Olga Ivanovna.
"What's the matter! Listen to the kind of sermon your dear husband preaches. It appears
