‘Yes, madam, with one word! It’s useless to look at me!’ (He crossed his arms on his breast.) ‘Allow me to ask you, do you know a certain house near Povarsky? Have you visited that house?’ (He stamped.) ‘Answer me, worthless girl, and don’t try to hide the truth. People, people, servants, madam, _de vils laquais_ have seen you, as you went in there, to your----’ Elena was crimson, her eyes were blazing. ‘I have no need to hide anything,’ she declared. ‘Yes, I have visited that house.’ ‘Exactly! Do you hear, do you hear, Anna Vassilyevna? And you know, I presume, who lives there?’ ‘Yes, I know; my husband.’ Nikolai Artemyevitch’s eyes were starting out of his head. ‘Your----’ ‘My husband,’ repeated Elena; ‘I am married to Dmitri Nikanorovitch Insarov.’ ‘You?--married?’--was all Anna Vassilyevna could articulate. ‘Yes, mamma.... Forgive me. A fortnight ago, we were secretly married.’ Anna Vassilyevna fell back in her chair; Nikolai Artemyevitch stepped two paces back. ‘Married! To that vagrant, that Montenegrin! the daughter of Nikolai Stahov of the higher nobility married to a vagrant, a nobody, without her parents’ sanction! And you imagine I shall let the matter rest, that I shall not make a complaint, that I will allow you--that you--that----To the nunnery with you, and he shall go to prison, to hard labour! Anna Vassilyevna, inform her at once that you will cut off her inheritance!’ ‘Nikolai Artemyevitch, for God’s sake,’ moaned Anna Vassilyevna. ‘And when and how was this done? Who married you? where? how? Good God! what will all our friends think, what will the world say! And you, shameless hypocrite, could go on living under your parents’ roof after such an act! Had you no fear of--the wrath of heaven?’ ‘Papa’ said Elena (she was trembling from head to foot but her voice was steady), ‘you are at liberty to do with me as you please, but you need not accuse me of shamelessness, and hypocrisy. I did not want--to give you pain before, but I should have had to tell you all myself in a few days, because we are going away--my husband and I--from here next week.’ ‘Going away? Where to?’ ‘To his own country, to Bulgaria.’ ‘To the Turks!’ cried Anna Vassilyevna and fell into a swoon. Elena ran to her mother. ‘Away!’ clamoured Nikolai Artemyevitch, seizing his daughter by the arm, ‘away, unworthy girl!’ But at that instant the door of the room opened, and a pale face with glittering eyes appeared: it was the face of Shubin. ‘Nikolai Artemyevitch!’ he shouted at the top of his voice, ‘Augustina Christianovna is here and is asking for you!’ Nikolai Artemyevitch turned round infuriated, threatening Shubin with his fist; he stood still a minute and rapidly went out of the room. Elena fell at her mother’s feet and embraced her knees. * * *