He felt whilst he was speaking that he was not expressing what was in his heart, and he was again silent. Matrona still remained with her back to him, and motionless. Once more she was feverishly and rapidly passing in review the period of their life together; whilst at the same time there pressed in again upon her consciousness the question-- "What is going to happen next?" "Motrja!" Grigori suddenly began in a soft voice, placing his hand on the table and bending over his wife. "Is it altogether my fault that everything has gone wrong--that things are not as they should be ... between us?... I know I have an unfortunate disposition...." He sighed, and shook his head slowly and bitterly. "If you only knew what an ache I have in my heart! My life seems to me so cramped and narrow!... After all, what sort of a life is this? These sick people, for instance, can they be any comfort to me? Some of them die ... others recover and go on living ... and I have to continue to drag out my existence!... but how?... Is the life we are leading any better than the pains of cholera?... It is a constant struggle, and how frightful it is!... Ah! I can't express all that is in my soul.... But I know that I can't go on living like this.... But how to alter it I don't know.... Look at those, for instance, who are suffering in the Infirmary; what care is taken of them because they are ill; and I also am ill ... I have pains and cramps in my soul; but no one takes care of me; so I am worse off than they are. And you tell me that I am no better than a brute.... Nothing but a drunken sot!... Ah! you don't understand me ... you are a heartless...." He was speaking in a clear, quiet tone of voice, but she paid but little attention to his words, for she was occupied with her own thoughts. "You do not answer," he continued, feeling something new and great unfolding within him. "Why do you not speak? What is it you want?" "I want nothing from you!" exclaimed Matrona. "Why do you worry me so? What do you want me to do?" "What do I want you to do?... Well ... you are to ... I want...." Orloff felt that he was not in a state to define exactly what he wanted. He was unable to put it clearly into words, so that he could himself express, and make her understand, what he wanted to say. But he realized that some barrier had arisen between them, which no words, however eloquent, could break down. This thought awoke a feverish rage in his heart He struck Matrona with his clenched fist on the back of her head, and roared out-- "You damned sorceress! You are trying to provoke me.... I'll kill you, you witch!" The blow was so violent that she fell face forwards on the table. But she quickly recovered herself, and facing her husband with a look of hatred and defiance in her eyes, she cried out in a loud voice--Go on beating me!" "Hush! Be quiet!" "Why don't you go on beating me, I say!" "Oh, you devil!" "No, Grigori, I won't stand this sort of thing any longer!"