Titoff was the one absolute power on the estate of Sokolie. There was not much land, and only so much grain was sown as was necessary for the household. The rest of the land was rented to the peasants. Later there came an order that no more land should be rented and that flax should be sown on the whole estate. A factory was being opened nearby. In addition to myself, there sat in a corner of the office Ivan Makarovitch Judin. His soul was half dead and he was always drunk. He had been a telegraph operator, but he had lost his position on account of his drunkenness. He took care of the books, wrote the letters, made the contracts with the peasants, and was remarkably silent. When he was spoken to, he only nodded his head and coughed a little. At most he answered, "All right." He was short and thin, but his face was round and puffy, and his eyes could hardly be seen. He was entirely bald and he walked on his tip-toes, silently and unsteadily, as the blind. On the Feast of the Virgin of Kazin, the peasants made Judin so drunk with vodka that he died. I was alone now in the office, did all the work, and received a salary from Titoff of forty rubles a year. He gave me Olga as an assistant. I had noticed for a long time that the peasants walked around the office as wolves around a trap. They see the trap, but they are hungry, and the bait tempts them, so they begin to eat. When I was alone in the office and became acquainted with all the books and plans, I realized, even with my poor understanding, that our whole arrangement was nothing more than theft. The peasants were head over ears in debt and worked, not for themselves, but for Titoff. I cannot say that I was either very much surprised or ashamed at this discovery. And even if I did understand now why Savelko swore at me and insulted me, still I did not think it was right of him. Was it then I who had originated this stealing? I saw that Titoff was not quite straight even with the landlord, and that he stuffed his pockets as much as he dared. I became bolder toward him, for I realized that in some way I was necessary to him. And now I understood why. I had to hide him, the thief, from the Lord God. He now called me his "dear son," and his wife did so too. They dressed me well, for which, of course, I was grateful. But my heart did not go out toward them, and my soul was not warmed by their goodness. I became more and more friendly with Olga, however. I liked her wistful smile, her low voice and her love of flowers. Titoff and his wife walked before God with sunken heads, like a team of horses, and behind their timid glances seemed to be continually hiding something which must have been even greater than theft. I did not like Titoff's hands. He always hid them in a manner which made me suspicious. Perhaps those hands had strangled some one; perhaps there was blood on them. They kept asking me, he as well as she: "Pray for our sins, Motia."