Onisim gazed in astonishment at his master, glanced round.... In the window stood an empty dark-green bottle, with the inscription: ‘Best Jamaica rum.’ ‘I’ve been drinking, my lad, that’s all,’ Pyetushkov went on. ‘I’ve been and taken it. I’ve been drinking, and that’s all about it. And where’ve you been? Tell us ... don’t be shy ... tell us. You’re a good hand at a tale.’ ‘Ivan Afanasiitch, mercy on us!’ wailed Onisim. ‘To be sure. To be sure I will,’ replied Pyetushkov with a vague wave of his hand. ‘I’ll have mercy on you, and forgive you. I forgive every one, I forgive you, and Vassilissa I forgive, and every one, every one. Yes, my lad, I’ve been drinking.... Dri-ink-ing, lad.... Who’s that?’ he cried suddenly, pointing to the door into the passage; ‘who’s there?’ ‘Nobody’s there,’ Onisim answered hastily: ‘who should be there? ... where are you going?’ ‘No, no,’ repeated Pyetushkov, breaking away from Onisim, ‘let me go, I saw--don’t you talk to me,--I saw there, let me go.... Vassilissa!’ he shrieked all at once. Pyetushkov turned pale. ‘Well ... well, why don’t you come in?’ he said at last. ‘Come in, Vassilissa, come in. I’m very glad to see you, Vassilissa.’ Vassilissa glanced at Onisim and came into the room. Pyetushkov went nearer to her.... He heaved deep, irregular breaths. Onisim watched him. Vassilissa stole timid glances at both of them. ‘Sit down, Vassilissa,’ Ivan Afanasiitch began again: ‘thanks for coming. Excuse my being ... what shall I say? ... not quite fit to be seen. I couldn’t foresee, couldn’t really, you’ll own that yourself. Come, sit down, see here, on the sofa ... So ... I’m expressing myself all right, I think.’ Vassilissa sat down. ‘Well, good day to you,’ Ivan Afanasiitch pursued. ‘Come, how are you? what have you been doing?’ ‘I’m well, thank God, Ivan Afanasiitch. And you?’ ‘I? as you see! A ruined man. And ruined by whom? By you, Vassilissa. But I’m not angry with you. Only I’m a ruined man. You ask him. (He pointed to Onisim.) Don’t you mind my being drunk. I’m drunk, certainly; only I’m a ruined man. That’s why I’m drunk, because I’m a ruined man.’ ‘Lord have mercy on us, Ivan Afanasiitch!’ ‘A ruined man, Vassilissa, I tell you. You may believe me. I’ve never deceived you. Oh, and how’s your aunt?’ ‘Very well, Ivan Afanasiitch. Thank you.’ Pyetushkov began swaying violently. ‘But you’re not quite well to-day, Ivan Afanasiitch. You ought to lie down.’ ‘No, I’m quite well, Vassilissa. No, don’t say I’m not well; you’d better say I’ve fallen into evil ways, lost my morals. That’s what would be just. I won’t dispute that.’ Ivan Afanasiitch gave a lurch backwards. Onisim ran forward and held his master up.