One day I could stand it no longer. I asked them: "Are you then more sinful than others?" Nastasia sighed and went away, and he turned on his heel and did not answer. In the house he was thoughtful and spoke very little, and then only on business. He never swore at the peasants, but he was always haughty with them, which was worse than swearing. He never conceded a point and stood his ground as firmly as if he were sunk to the waist in the earth. "One should give in to them," I said to him once. "Never," he answered. "Not an iota must you give in, or you are lost." Another time he ordered me to count false, and I said to him: "You can't do that." "Why not?" "It is a sin." "It is not you who are forcing me to sin, but I you. Write as I tell you. No one will ask any account of you, you are only my hand. Your piety will not suffer by it; have no fear. For ten rubles a month neither I nor anybody else can live honorably. Do you understand that?" "Oh, you scoundrel!" I said to myself. But aloud I said to him: "That is quite enough. Things must end right here. If you don't stop this swindling I will tell the village all about your deals." He pulled his mustache up to his nose, lifted his shoulders to his ears, showed his teeth and stared at me with his round, bulging eyes. We measured each other. "You will do that, really?" he said to me in a low voice. "Yes." Titoff burst out laughing, and it sounded as if some one had thrown silver pieces on the ground. "All right, my holy one, that is all that I needed. From now on we will manage this affair differently. We won't bother any more with kopecks. We will deal with rubles. If the thief's dress is too tight, he becomes honest." He went out, slamming the door so that the panes in the windows rattled. It seemed to me that Titoff was a little more cross after that. Still I was not quite sure of it. But he left me in, peace from then on. He was a terrible miser, and though he did not deny himself anything, nevertheless he knew how to value a penny. He ate well and was very fond of women, and as he had the power in his hands, there was not a woman in the village who dared to refuse him. He let the young girls alone, and only went to the married women. He made my blood hot once or twice. "What is the matter, Matvei?" he asked. "Are you timid? To take a woman is like giving charity. In the country every woman yearns for love. But the men are weak and worn out, and what can the women expect from them? You are a strong, handsome young fellow; why not make love to the women? You would get some pleasure out of it yourself." He followed every villainy, the low rascal. Once he asked me: "Do you think, Matvei, that a pious man is of much value in the eyes of God?" I did not like such questions. "I don't know," I answered. He remained doubtful for a minute and then he said: