I did not get up and leave him as I very easily might have done. I had had, since the night when Nikitin had spoken to me so frankly, a desire to know the little man's side of that affair. In some curious fashion that silent plain wife of his had been very frequently in my thoughts; there had not been enough in Nikitin's account to explain to me his passion for her, and yet her ghost, as though evoked by the memories both of Nikitin and her husband, had seemed to me, sometimes, to be present with us.... I waited. "Tell me frankly," Andrey Vassilievitch said at last, "am I of any use here?" "Of use?" I repeated, taken by surprise. "Yes. Am I doing only what any one else can do as well? Would it be better perhaps if another were here?" "No, certainly not," I answered warmly. "Your business training is of the greatest value to us. Molozov has said to me 'that he does not know what we should do without you.'" (This was not strictly true.) "Ah!" the little man was greatly pleased. "I am glad, very glad--to hear what you say. Semyonov made me feel--" "You should not be influenced," I hurriedly interrupted him, "by what Semyonov thinks. It is of no importance." "He has a bad character," Andrey Vassilievitch said suddenly with great excitement, "a bad character. And why cannot he leave me alone? Why should he laugh always? I do my best. I am quiet and not in his way. I can do things that he cannot. I am not big as he but at least I do not rob men of their women." He was shaking with anger, his head trembling and his hands quivering--it was difficult not to smile. "You must not listen nor notice nor think of it," I said firmly. "We are grateful for your work--all of us. Semyonov laughs at us all." "That poor Marie Ivanovna," he burst out. "She does not know. She is ignorant of life. At first I was angry with her but now I see that she is helpless. There will be terrible things afterwards, Ivan Andreievitch!" he cried. "I think she understands him better than we do." "I have never," he said vehemently, "hated a man in my life as I hate him." But in spite of his passionate declaration he was obviously reassured by my defence of him. He was quiet suddenly, looked at the view mildly and, in a moment, thought me the best friend he had in the world--in the Russian manner. "You see, Ivan Andreievitch," he said, looking at me with the eyes of an unnaturally wise baby, "that I cannot help wishing that my wife were here to advise Marie Ivanovna. She would have loved my wife very much, as every one did, and would have confided in her. That would have helped a girl who, like Marie Ivanovna, is ignorant of the world and the loves of men." "You miss your wife very much?" I asked.