"My dear brave one!" whispered Matrona, and pressed tenderly against him. "I would throw myself against a hundred sharp knives if I could do any good.... Do you understand? that?... Not for my own profit, but to make men's lives happier.... I see there such people as the doctor Wasschtschenko and the student Chochrjakoff; the work they do is quite wonderful. One would think they would have died long ago from absolute fatigue.... Do you think they work for the love of money? No man would work like that for money only! The head doctor has plenty of his own ... he needs no more ... he is a rich man already.... When he was ill lately, Doctor Wasschtschenko watched by him for four days and nights; not once did he go home during the whole time.... Money plays no part in all this; they do it out of pity ... they are sorry for the people, and so they sacrifice themselves ... And for whom?... For everybody ... as much for Mischka Ussoff as for anybody else.... They took as much pains to get him better as they did about the others, and they were quite rejoiced when he got better. This Mishka, if he had his deserts, should be in penal servitude, for every one knows that he is a thief or something worse!... Yet they were quite rejoiced when he got out of bed for the first time, and laughed aloud for pure joy!... I should like to feel such happiness also; I am full of envy when I see how glad they are, and I grow hot with the desire to do as they do. But how am I to begin?... Ah!'tis a devil of a business!..." He made a hopeless gesture, expressive of his despair, and once more sank into profound reflection. Matrona was silent, but her heart beat rapidly. The excited state of mind of her husband made her feel vaguely anxious. She felt distinctly in his words the burning pain which oppressed him during his, to her, incomprehensible fits of depression. She loved her husband; and it was a husband she needed, not a hero.... They approached the steep banks of the river, and sat down near each other on the grass. Above them nodded the feathery tops of the young birch-trees. Down below, over the water, lay a blue mist, reeking of rotting leaves, of pine-needles, and of damp earth. Backwards and forwards a light breath of wind swept over the ravine; the tops of the young trees moved softly, and the whole forest seemed filled simultaneously with a shy whispering, as if some beloved person were asleep under the shelter of its trees, and it feared to wake him. The stars shone down from above, and the lights flashed from the town, having the appearance, against the dark background, of gardens of gay quivering flowers. The Orloffs sat on in silence. Grigori drummed with his fingers on his knee, whilst Matrona watched him and sighed softly. Suddenly she put her arms round his neck, laid her head against his breast, and whispered--