“It’s a tree--not a woman! But life is like an inextinguishable wood-pile, and every one of us blazes up sometimes. She, too, will take fire; wait, give her time. Then we shall see how she will bloom.” “Eh!” Ignat used to say to her jestingly. “What are you thinking about? Are you homesick? Brighten up a bit!” She would remain silent, calmly looking at him. “You go entirely too often to the church. You should wait. You have plenty of time to pray for your sins. Commit the sins first. You know, if you don’t sin you don’t repent; if you don’t repent, you don’t work out your salvation. You better sin while you are young. Shall we go out for a drive?” “I don’t feel like going out.” He used to sit down beside her and embrace her. She was cold, returning his caresses but sparingly. Looking straight into her eyes, he used to say: “Natalya! Tell me--why are you so sad? Do you feel lonesome here with me?” “No,” she replied shortly. “What then is it? Are you longing for your people?” “No, it’s nothing.” “What are you thinking about?” “I am not thinking.” “What then?” “Oh, nothing!” Once he managed to get from her a more complete answer: “There is something confused in my heart. And also in my eyes. And it always seems to me that all this is not real.” She waved her hand around her, pointing at the walls, the furniture and everything. Ignat did not reflect on her words, and, laughing, said to her: “That’s to no purpose! Everything here is genuine. All these are costly, solid things. If you don’t want these, I’ll burn them, I’ll sell them, I’ll give them away--and I’ll get new ones! Do you want me to?” “What for?” said she calmly. He wondered, at last, how one so young and healthy could live as though she were sleeping all the time, caring for nothing, going nowhere, except to the church, and shunning everybody. And he used to console her: “Just wait. You’ll bear a son, and then an altogether different life will commence. You are so sad because you have so little anxiety, and he will give you trouble. You’ll bear me a son, will you not? “If it pleases God,” she answered, lowering her head. Then her mood began to irritate him. “Well, why do you wear such a long face? You walk as though on glass. You look as if you had ruined somebody’s soul! Eh! You are such a succulent woman, and yet you have no taste for anything. Fool!” Coming home intoxicated one day, he began to ply her with caresses, while she turned away from him. Then he grew angry, and exclaimed: “Natalya! Don’t play the fool, look out!” She turned her face to him and asked calmly: “What then?” Ignat became enraged at these words and at her fearless look. “What?” he roared, coming up close to her. “Do you wish to kill me?” asked she, not moving from her place, nor winking an eye. Ignat was accustomed to seeing people tremble before his wrath, and it was strange and offensive to him to see her calm.