expression was feminine and plaintive. He twitched his fingers, as if seeking words to clothe inexpressible affliction, and continued—
"Eight children, a wife . . . a mother still alive, and ten roubles a month for wages, to board myself! My wife a devil from poverty . . . and I a drunkard! I am a deliberate, grave man. I want to sit at home in peace; but all day long, like a dog, I wander about with my gun . . . because it is more than I can bear. I hate my home!"
Afraid that his tongue had carried him away, and that he had said what should be concealed, the steward waved his hand, and continued bitterly—
"If the world must perish, then let it—the sooner the better! There's no use delaying it, no use in suffering without cause. . . ."
The old man took the reed from his lips, and, closing one eye, looked along it. His face was sad, and covered with drops as with tears. He smiled and answered—
"It's a pity, brother! Lord, what a pity! The earth, the woods, the sky . . . the beasts and birds! . . . all these were made, adapted to their uses, each has its mind! And all will perish. . . . But most luckless of all are we men!"
In the forest rustled heavy rain. Meliton looked towards the sound, buttoned his coat to the neck, and said—
"I must go back to the village. Good-bye, grandfather! What is your name?"
