came in to-day, and said what you did, that you didn't wish, you said, to visit us any more, I felt relieved, sir, that I did; thinks I, Well, thank God, how nicely it's all come about! But for that, I should have had hard work to bring my tongue to say it. . . Be so good, sir.'
Pyetushkov turned red and pale almost at the same instant. Praskovia Ivanovna still went on bowing. . .
'Very good,' Ivan Afanasiitch cried sharply. 'Good-bye.'
He turned abruptly and put on his cap.
'But the little bill, sir. . .'
'Send it . . . my orderly shall pay you.'
Pyetushkov went with resolute steps out of the baker's shop, and did not even look round.
X
A fortnight passed. At first Pyetushkov bore up in an extraordinary way. He went out, and visited his comrades, with the exception, of course, of Bublitsyn; but in spite of the exaggerated approbation of Onisim, he almost went out of his mind at last from wretchedness, jealousy, and ennui. Conversations with Onisim about Vassilissa were the only thing that afforded him some consolation. The conversation was always begun, 'scratched
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