The workmen were not offended when Pavl showed them the caricatures, but the one of Golovev made an unpleasant impression on them all, and the artist was sternly advised: "You had better tear it up, for if the old man sees it, he will half kill you!" The dirty, putrid, everlastingly drunk old man was tiresomely pious, and inextinguishably malicious. He vilified the whole workshop to the shopman whom the mistress was about to marry to her niece, and who for that reason felt himself to be master of the whole house and the workpeople. The workmen hated him, but they were afraid of him, and for the same reason were afraid of Golovev, too. Pavl worried the chaser furiously and in all manner of ways, just as if he had set before himself the aim of never allowing Golovev to have a moment's peace. I helped him in this with enthusiasm, and the workshop amused itself with our pranks, which were almost always pitilessly coarse. But we were warned: "You will get into trouble, children! Kouzka-Juchek will half kill you!" Kouzka-Juchek was the nickname of the shopman, which was given to him on the quiet by the workshop. The warning did not alarm us. We painted the face of the chaser when he was asleep. One day when he was in a drunken slumber we gilded his nose, and it was three days before he was able to get the gold out of the holes in his spongy nose. But every time that we succeeded in infuriating the old man, I remembered the steamboat, and the little Viatski soldier, and I was conscious of a disturbance in my soul. In spite of his age, Golovev was so strong that he often beat us, falling upon us unexpectedly; he would beat us and then complain of us to the mistress. She, who was also drunk every day, and for that reason always kind and cheerful, tried to frighten us, striking her swollen hands on the table, and crying: "So you have been saucy again, you wild beast? He is an old man, and you ought to respect him! Who was it that put photographic solution in his glass, instead of wine?" "We did." The mistress was amazed. "Good Lord, they actually admit it! Ah, accursed ones, you ought to respect old men!" She drove us away, and in the evening she complained to the shopman, who spoke to me angrily: "How can you read books, even the Holy Scriptures, and still be so saucy, eh? Take care, my brother!" The mistress was solitary and touchingly sad. Sometimes when she had been drinking sweet liqueurs, she would sit at the window and sing: "No one is sorry for me, And pity have I from none; What my grief is no one knows; To whom shall I tell my sorrow." And sobbingly she drawled in the quavering voice of age: "U--00--00--"