"What was going to happen next?" Still this question sounded through her brain, and her heart beat time in unison with the words. For a long time she sat there alone in a sort of heavy stupor, though each footstep in the corridor made her start and glance anxiously at the door.... When at last it opened, and Grigori himself appeared, she neither started nor moved, for she felt at that moment as if the heavy rain-clouds outside had suddenly fallen on her, crushing her with their weight. Grigori remained standing near the door, then, throwing on the floor his wet cap, he approached Matrona with heavy creaking footsteps. He was wet through, the water was pouring from him. His face was flushed, his eyes looked dim, on his lips was a broad, foolish smile. As he came nearer Matrona could hear the water oozing out of his boots. He looked a pitiful object, and Matrona even in her worst dreams had never imagined him thus. "What a sight you are," she said quietly. "Shall I fall down at your feet and beg your forgiveness?" Grischka asked with a weak, sheepish movement of his head. She was silent "No?... Well, just as you like!... I have been walking about the whole night thinking it out as to whether I am guilty towards you or not. At last I made up my mind; yes, I am guilty.... And now I come to ask your pardon; will you grant it?" Still she remained dumb; her heart was tom with bitter recollections, for as he stood before her he reeked of vodka. "Just listen!... Don't make too many grimaces about it! Take advantage of my being sober and friendly," said Grigori, in a louder and more threatening voice. "Will you forgive me?" "You are drunk," said Matrona, sighing. "Go and have your sleep out." "It's a lie! I am not drunk, but only tired.... I have been walking about and thinking ... I have thought of many things, my dear. So take care what you are about!" He shook his finger at her menacingly, and a constrained smile played round his mouth. "Why won't you speak?" "I can't speak to you now." "And why not pray?" His face flushed suddenly, and he raised his voice. "It was _you_ who made the row yesterday; _you_ who shouted and scolded ... and _I_ come now, and beg your forgiveness. Do you quite realize that?" His manner whilst he spoke was excited, his lips quivered, and his nostrils dilated. Matrona knew only too well what these signs foreboded; the cellar, the Saturday night rows, all the dreariness of their empty life. "I realize it only too plainly," she replied in a firm, decided voice. "You have become once more a wild beast! Ah! that it should be so!" "Whether I am a wild beast or not, that has nothing to do with the matter!... I ask you if you will forgive me? What do you imagine then?... Do you think I can't live without your forgiveness? Oh, I can get along very well without it ... but all the same I come and ask you to forgive.... Do you understand?..."