me. I heard her breathing, and knew that she was not looking through the window, but upon me, and I was silent.
"How beautifully the snow sparkles!" said Tatiana Nikolayevna, but I remained unresponsive. Her breath came quicker, then seemed to cease.
"Anton Ignatyevich!" said she, and stopped short.
I remained silent.
"Anton Ignatyevich" she repeated in the same irresolute tone, and now I looked at her. Suddenly she tottered back, almost fell, as if she had been thrust back by the terrible force that was in my glance. She tottered and threw herself towards her husband, who had entered the room.
"Alexis!" she mumbled. "Alexis . . . He . . ."
"Well, what about him?"
Without smiling, but in a jesting tone, I said:
"She thinks that I want to kill you with that thing."
