But in the night, when she, with her bruised and ill-used body, lay groaning by his side, he would watch her from the corner of his eye, and sigh heavily. His conscience troubled him, and he felt a painful feeling of shame, as he realized that there was not the smallest foundation for his jealousy, and that he had once more unjustly beaten his wife. "Now then, stop sobbing!" he said in a remorseful tone. "Is it my fault if I have that sort of character?... And it's a great deal your fault.... Instead of speaking to me quietly, you try and aggravate me. What is it makes you behave like that?" She did not answer, though she was quite conscious why she acted thus. She knew that she was looking forward to the pitying and passionate caresses with which he would seal her forgiveness. For the sake of these caresses she was prepared to allow herself to be beaten every day till the blood flowed, and she shed precious tears in the sole expectation of this joy of reconciliation. "How do you feel now?... Come now, be quiet, Motrja! Come, my treasure, forgive me?... do forgive me now!" He stroked her hair, kissed her tenderly, whilst he ground his teeth with the bitterness which was eating into his soul. The window of their room stood open, but the sky was hidden by the thick wall of the neighbouring houses, and in the cellar it was, as usual, dark, damp, and sticky. "Ah! this life; it's a veritable prison!" whispered Grischka, unable to put into words all the pain that was oppressing his soul, "This hole that we live in is the cause of it all, Motrja! Whatever do we stay here for?... It's just as if we were buried alive!" "Well, let's go into other lodgings," remarked Motrja through her tears, taking his words literally. "It's not that, dear.... I did not mean that exactly.... For even if we were to live in a garret we should still be living in a hole, and all would remain exactly the same I It's not only the lodgings ... our whole life is like a hole...." Matrona began to think over his words, and finally remarked, "God grant that we may improve ... that we may get used to each other." "Yes, that things may improve ... you have often said that already. It doesn't look much like it, Motrja.... The scandals we create become more and more frequent." Motrja could not deny this. The intervals between her beatings grew ever shorter and shorter, and Grischka would frequently begin the trouble quite early on Saturday morning. He would commence by saying-- "This evening, as soon as I have finished work, I am off to the vodka-shop across the way, and I mean to have such a bout!"