"By heavens, but he's a regular jolly lad!" said Grigori delighted. "He comes in as simply as if he had known us for years, gives the necessary directions, and there's an end of it.... All without noise or fuss, though he had a right to use authority.... That's the sort of fellow that takes my fancy! One sees at once that he has a heart for people like us.... What say you, Motrja? They don't want us to die, that's all about it I And all this women's chatter about poisoning and that sort of thing--that's all rubbish. 'How are your stomachs getting on?' he asked. If he wants to poison me what can it matter to him how my stomach is? And how cleverly he explained all that.... What the devil did he call those--those worms that get into our insides?" "'Bactery,' or some word like that," answered Motrja, with a sneer. "But he only told us that to frighten us, so as to make us more careful about being clean...." "Who knows, perhaps it is true! Perhaps there are animals of that sort--in the damp all kinds of creatures live! Damn it all, what was the name of those little beasts? Bac--bactery--that was not quite it.... If I could only pronounce it I.... It's just on the tip of my tongue, but I can't get it out!..." Once again, in the evening when they lay down to sleep, they spoke about the event of the day with the most naïve excitement, just as children have the habit of chattering with each other about some strong impression they may have received. And they fell asleep in the middle of the conversation. In the morning they woke up early. At their bedside stood the painter's stout cook; her usually healthy, rosy-coloured face was now white and leaden-looking. "How is it you are still in bed?".she began at once in an excited voice, speaking with trembling lips. "The cholera has started here in the courtyard! The Lord has visited us...!" and she began suddenly to sob aloud. "What nonsense! It can't be true!" cried Grigori In a scared voice. "And I forgot again last night to carry out the slop-bucket!" said Matrona with contrition. "I have come in to say good-bye to you, my dear friends," said the cook. "I have decided to leave, and go back to my village." "Who is in for it?" asked Grigori, jumping out of bed. "The accordion-player. He drank last evening some cold water from the pump, and in the night he was taken with dreadful cramps." "The accordion-player?" muttered Grigori. It seemed to him quite incredible that any sort of illness could hurt that strong fellow. Yesterday only he crossed the yard as cheerful and as proud as a peacock. "I shall just go and see what is going on," said Grischka, still smiling incredulously. "But it is catching, Grischka!" screamed Matrona, horrified. "What do you want to be doing there, man? Stay here!" cried the cook. Grigori muttered a few curses, and began to dress himself hastily without washing, and went out just as he was into the yard.