In the morning I went into the room to set it to rights. But he was not there, having gone to the Abbot. She sat on the divan, her feet under her, uncombed and half dressed. She asked me what I was called. I told her. Then she asked me if I had been in the monastery a long time, and I answered that question also. "Don't you get bored here?" "No," I answered. "That's strange--if it's true." "Why should it not be true?" I asked. "You are so young and good-looking." "Is the monastery only for cripples?" She laughed and put out a bare foot from the divan. She looked at me and let herself be seen immodestly; exposed, her arms bare to the shoulder and her gown unfastened at the breast. "You do that in vain," I thought. "You should keep your charms for your lover." And the little fool asked me: "Don't women bother you?" "I don't see them," I answered. "How can they bother me?" "What do you mean by 'how'?" And she laughed. Anthony appeared in the door and asked angrily: "What is this, Zoia?" "Oh," she cried, "he is so funny--that one!" And she began to chatter and tell how "funny" I was. But Anthony did not listen to her, and commanded me sternly: "Go and unpack the trunks and the bags. Then take part of the provisions to the Abbot." Even before dinner both of them had taken enough wine, and in the evening, after tea, the woman was entirely drunk, and Anthony, too, seemed more drunk than usual. They drove me from one corner to the other--to bring this, to carry that; to heat the wine, then to cool it. I ran about like a waiter in a drinking place, and they became more and more free before me. The young lady was hot and took off some of her clothes, and the gentleman suddenly asked me: "Matvei, isn't she pretty?" "Pretty enough," I answered. "But look at her well." She laughed, drunk. I wanted to go out, but Anthony called out, wildly: "Where are you going? Stay here! Zoiaka, show yourself naked!" I thought I had not heard rightly, but she pulled off a gown she had on and stood upon her feet, swaying. I looked at Anthony and he looked back at me. My heart beat loudly, for I pitied this man. Vulgarities did not quite fit him, and I was ashamed for the woman. Then he shouted: "Get out of here, you lout!" "You are a lout yourself!" I retorted. He jumped up, overthrowing the bottles on the table. The dishes fell to the ground with a crash; something began to flow hastily, like a lonely stream. I went out into the garden and lay down. My heart ached like a bone that is frozen. In the stillness I heard Anthony cry out: "Out with you!" And a woman's voice whined: "Don't you dare, you fool!" Soon the harnessing of horses was heard in the courtyard, and their dissatisfied neighing and stampings on the dry earth. Doors were slammed, the wheels of a carriage rattled, and then the large gates creaked. Anthony walked through the garden, calling low: "Matvei, where are you?"