He drank the cold, bitter beer feverishly, was silent for a time, ruffling his long hair, and then he went on: "Human creatures are riff-raff for the most part, Brother! There you are, for instance, talking to the workmen. Oh yes, I understand there is a lot of trickery, and baseness; it is true, Brother; they are thieves all of them! But do you think that what you say makes any difference to them! Not an atom! No! They are all--Petr, Osip as well--rogues! They speak about me, and you speak for me, and all--what is the use of it, Brother?" I was dumb from sheer amazement. "That's it!" said my master, smiling. "You were right to think of going to Persia. There you would understand nothing; it is a foreign language they speak there! But in your own language you 'll hear nothing but baseness!" "Has Osip been telling you about me?" I asked. "Well, yes! But what did you expect? He talks more than any of them; he is a gossip. He is a sly creature, Brother! No, Pyeshkov, words don't touch them. Am I not right? And what the devil is the use of it? And what the devil difference does it make? None! It is like snow in the autumn, falling in the mud and melting. It only makes more mud. You had far better hold your tongue." He drank glass after glass of beer. He did not get drunk, but he talked more and more quickly and fiercely. "The proverb says, 'Speech is silver, silence is golden.' Ekh, Brother, it is all sorrow, sorrow! He sang truly, 'Solitary I live in our village.' Human life is all loneliness." He glanced round, lowered his voice, and continued: "And I had found a friend after my own heart. There was a woman who happened to be alone, as good as a widow; her husband had been condemned to Siberia for coining money, and was in prison there. I became acquainted with her; she was penniless; it was that, you know, which led to our acquaintance. I looked at her and thought, 'What a nice little person!' Pretty, you know, young, simply wonderful. I saw her once or twice, and then I said to her: 'Your husband is a rogue. You are not living honestly yourself. Why do you want to go to Siberia after him?' But she would follow him into exile. She said to me: 'Whatever he is, I love him; he is good to me! It may be that it was for me he sinned. I have sinned with you. For' his sake,' she said, 'I had to have money; he is a gentleman and accustomed to live well. If I had been single,' she said, 'I should have lived honorably. You are a good man, too,' she said, 'and I like you very much, but don't talk to me about this again.' The devil! I gave her all I had--eighty rubles or thereabouts--and I said: 'You must pardon me, but I cannot see you any more. I cannot!' And I left her--and that's how--" He was silent, and then he suddenly became drunk. He sank into a huddled-up heap and muttered: