‘And when he told me, your Volodka,’ Harlov went on with fresh force, ‘when he told me I was not to live in my room any more,--I laid every plank in that room with my own hands,--when he said that to me,--God only knows what passed within me! It was all confusion in my head, and like a knife in my heart.… Either to cut his throat or get away out of the house!… So, I have run to you, my benefactress, Natalia Nikolaevna … where had I to lay my head? And then the rain, the filth … I fell down twenty times, maybe! And now … in such unseemly.…’ Harlov scanned himself and moved restlessly in his chair, as though intending to get up. ‘Say no more, Martin Petrovitch,’ my mother interposed hurriedly; ‘what does that signify? That you’ve made the floor dirty? That’s no great matter! Come, I want to make you a proposition. Listen! They shall take you now to a special room, and make you up a clean bed,--you undress, wash, and lie down and sleep a little.…’ ‘Natalia Nikolaevna! There’s no sleeping for me!’ Harlov responded drearily. ‘It’s as though there were hammers beating in my brain! Me! like some good-for-nothing beast!…’ ‘Lie down and sleep,’ my mother repeated insistently. ‘And then we’ll give you some tea,--yes, and we’ll have a talk. Don’t lose heart, old friend! If they’ve driven you out of _your_ house, in _my_ house you will always find a home.… I have not forgotten, you know, that you saved my life.’ ‘Benefactress!’ moaned Harlov, and he covered his face with his hand. ‘_You_ must save me now!’ This appeal touched my mother almost to tears. ‘I am ready and eager to help you, Martin Petrovitch, in everything I am able. But you must promise me that you will listen to me in future and dismiss every evil thought from you.’ Harlov took his hands from his face. ‘If need be,’ he said, ‘I can forgive them, even!’ My mother nodded her head approvingly. ‘I am very glad to see you in such a truly Christian frame of mind, Martin Petrovitch; but we will talk of that later. Meanwhile, you put yourself to rights, and, most of all, sleep. Take Martin Petrovitch to what was the master’s room, the green room,’ said my mother, addressing the butler, ‘and whatever he asks for, let him have it on the spot! Give orders for his clothes to be dried and washed, and ask the housekeeper for what linen is needed. Do you hear?’ ‘Yes, madam,’ responded the butler. ‘And as soon as he’s asleep, tell the tailor to take his measure; and his beard will have to be shaved. Not at once, but after.’ ‘Yes, madam,’ repeated the butler. ‘Martin Petrovitch, kindly come.’ Harlov got up, looked at my mother, was about to go up to her, but stopped, swinging a bow from the waist, crossed himself three times to the image, and followed the steward. Behind him, I, too, slipped out of the room. XXIV