Aboguin was standing on the threshold, but not the same man as went out. The expression of satisfaction and subtle elegance had disappeared from him. His face and hands, the attitude of his body were distorted with a disgusting expression either of horror or of tormenting physical pain. His nose, lips, moustache, all his features were moving and as it were trying to tear themselves away from his face, but the eyes were as though laughing from pain. Aboguin took a long heavy step into the middle of the room, stooped, moaned, and shook his fists. “Deceived!” he cried, emphasising the syllable _cei._ “She deceived me! She’s gone! She fell ill and sent me for the doctor only to run away with this fool Papchinsky. My God!” Aboguin stepped heavily towards the doctor, thrust his white soft fists before his face, and went on wailing, shaking his fists the while. “She’s gone off! She’s deceived me! But why this lie? My God, my God! Why this dirty, foul trick, this devilish, serpent’s game? What have I done to her? She’s gone off.” Tears gushed from his eyes. He turned on his heel and began to pace the drawing-room. Now in his short jacket and his fashionable narrow trousers in which his legs seemed too thin for his body, he was extraordinarily like a lion. Curiosity kindled in the doctor’s impassive face. He rose and eyed Aboguin. “Well, where’s the patient?” “The patient, the patient,” cried Aboguin, laughing, weeping, and still shaking his fists. “She’s not ill, but accursed. Vile--dastardly. The Devil himself couldn’t have planned a fouler trick. She sent me so that she could run away with a fool, an utter clown, an Alphonse! My God, far better she should have died. I’ll not bear it. I shall not bear it.” The doctor stood up straight. His eyes began to blink, filled with tears; his thin beard began to move with his jaw right and left. “What’s this?” he asked, looking curiously about. “My child’s dead. My wife in anguish, alone in all the house.... I can hardly stand on my feet, I haven’t slept for three nights ... and I’m made to play in a vulgar comedy, to play the part of a stage property! I don’t ... I don’t understand it!” Aboguin opened one fist, flung a crumpled note on the floor and trod on it, as upon an insect he wished to crush. “And I didn’t see ... didn’t understand,” he said through his set teeth, brandishing one fist round his head, with an expression as though someone had trod on a corn. “I didn’t notice how he came to see us every day. I didn’t notice that he came in a carriage to-day! What was the carriage for? And I didn’t see! Innocent!” “I don’t ... I don’t understand,” the doctor murmured. “What’s it all mean? It’s jeering at a man, laughing at a man’s suffering! That’s impossible.... I’ve never seen it in my life before!”