"As you see, we may be proud of our work.... Our school, which we planted at first like a small seed, has grown into a well-developed and splendid institution. We have been exceedingly fortunate in the choice of our teachers. In the shoemaking class, for instance, we have a woman-teacher, who was formerly the wife of a shoemaker, a charming bright little creature, simple in her nature, and irreproachable as to character. And how she works!... She is indeed a wonder!... Her way of teaching her trade too is quite astonishing; she has such patience and love for the children. She gets only twelve roubles a month besides her lodging, and at the price she is a treasure.... Out of her scanty earnings she herself supports two orphan children!... She's a most interesting person, I can tell you!..." He said so much in praise of the shoemaker's wife that I became quite curious to see her. It was not long before my wish was fulfilled, and one day Matrona Ivanovna Orlova told me the sad story of her life. At first, after her separation from her husband, he gave her no peace--he would arrive drunk, make a terrible row, watch her whenever she went out, and if he succeeded in catching her, would beat her pitilessly. She bore it all. When the Infirmary was closed, the lady doctor promised to get her a situation in the school, and protect her from her husband. This she succeeded in doing, and henceforth a peaceful industrious life began for Matrona. With the help of the assistants, whom she had known in the Infirmary, she learnt to read and write; later on she adopted two orphans, a boy and a girl, whom she found in the Orphanage,--she made a home for herself and grew happier, only looking back with sadness and horror on her former life. She loved her pupils, and realized the importance of the work that was entrusted to her, and to which she devoted absolutely her life. She had gained the affection and respect of all the managers of the school. But a dry painful cough troubled her, and a hectic flush on her thin cheeks was an omen of the disease which was undermining her strength. Her grey eyes burned with an expression of fathomless grief. Her married life with the restless Grischka had left these traces behind.... Grischka had, however, for the last three years left his wife entirely alone. He came sometimes to N----, but never showed his face to his wife. "He had gone on the tramp," that was the expression Matrona used to describe the kind of life her husband led. I had the opportunity later on of making his acquaintance. I came across him in one of the slum quarters of the town, and after we had met two or three times we became friends. He told me the story of his married life--the same story indeed that I had already heard from Matrona. After telling it he seemed lost for a time in reflection, and then added--