"I do not understand what you mean," he answered. "I only want to explain to you that seventy-two rubles a year for a man and a family is not much; and I will not permit you to squander my daughter's dowry. You must consider things well. Your wisdom is in reality hatred of me because I am more clever than you. But that will help neither you nor me. Each one is a saint just so long as the devil doesn't catch him." I could have beaten him well, but out of consideration for Olga I restrained myself. In the village it was known that I did not get on well with my father-in-law, and the people began to look at me in a friendlier way. As for myself, happiness had made me more gentle, and Olga, too, was mild and good of heart. In order to save the peasants from loss I began to give in to them here and there; helped one and spoke up for another. The village is like a glass house, where every one can look in, and so pretty soon Titoff said to me: "You again wish to bribe God." I decided to drop my work in the office and said to my wife: "I earn six rubles a month, and with my birds I can make more." But the poor child became sad. "Do whatever you want," she answered, "only let us not become beggars. I am sorry for my father," she added. "He wanted to do the best by us, and has taken many sins upon his soul for our sakes." "Ah, my dear one," I thought, "his well-wishing weighs heavily enough on me." Some days later I told my father-in-law that I was going to leave the office. "To become a soldier?" he asked, smiling ironically. I was hurt to the quick. I felt that he was ready to do anything against me, and it would not be difficult for him to harm me, considering who his acquaintances were. If I became a soldier I would be lost. Even for the love he bore his daughter he would not save me. My hands became more and more tied. My wife wept in secret and went about with red eyes. "What is the matter, Olga?" I asked her. And she answered: "I do not feel well." I remembered the oath I had made to her, and I became ashamed and embarrassed. One step and my problem would be settled, but I pitied the beloved woman. Had I not had Olga on my hands I would have even become a soldier to get out of Titoff's clutches. Toward the end of June a son was born to us, and again for some time I was as if dazed. The travail was difficult, Olga screamed, and my heart almost burst with fear. Titoff looked into the room gloomily, though most of the time he stood in the court and trembled. He leaned against the staircase, wrung his hands, let his head hang and muttered to himself: "She will die. My whole life was useless. O Lord, have mercy! When you shall have children, Matvei, then you will know my pain and you will understand my life; and you will cease to curse others for their sins." At this moment I really pitied him. I walked up and down the court and thought: