"Has he killed her or not?" he asked his master, suddenly. Lunev looked at him moodily and said: "Drink your tea, and go to bed." The samovar boiled and bubbled as though it would jump off the table. From the courtyard of a neighbouring house an angry cry resounded. "Nifont! Ni--if--ont." Suddenly a dark figure appeared at the window, and a trembling, timid voice asked: "Does Ilya Jakovlevitch live here?" "Yes, he does," cried Gavrik, sprang up and flew to the door of the courtyard so quickly that Ilya had no time to say anything. "It's sure to be she," he said in a loud whisper, holding the latch of the door. "Who?" asked Ilya, involuntarily lowering his voice. "Why--she--he wanted to kill." He pushed open the door and the thin small figure of a woman appeared, wearing a cotton dress and a small kerchief on her head. She supported herself by the doorpost with one hand and with the other pulled at the ends of her kerchief. She stood sideways, as though ready to go away again at once. "Come in," said Lunev roughly; he looked at her and did not recognise her. She started at the sound of his voice, then lifted her head with a smile on the pale small face. "Masha!" cried Ilya, and sprang up. She laughed softly, shut the door fast behind her and came towards him. "You didn't know me--you didn't know me a bit," she said and stood in the middle of the room. "God! Yes. I can recognise you now. But--how--you've changed!" Ilya took her hand with exaggerated politeness, and led her to the table, bowed, looked at her face and did not know how to say in what way she had changed. She was incredibly thin and walked as though her feet gave under her. "Where have you come from? Are you tired? Ah--you--how you look!"--he murmured, settled her carefully in a chair and looked steadily at her. "See how he treats me," she said, and looked at Ilya with a smile. His heart contracted painfully. Now that the lamplight fell on her, he saw her face plainly. She leant back in the chair, with her thin hands in her lap, bent her head sideways, and her flat chest heaved in shallow rapid breathing. She looked as though made of skin and bone; through the cotton stuff of her dress showed the bony shoulders, elbows and knees, and her face was terrible in its thinness. Over the temples, and the cheek-bones and chin, the bluish skin was tight drawn, the mouth was half open, the thin lips did not cover the teeth, and the expression of pain and fear stared from the long narrow face. The eyes looked dull and dead. "Have you been ill?" asked Ilya. "N--no," she answered slowly. "I'm quite well--he has made me like this." "Your husband?" "Yes--my husband." Her slow, drawling speech came like groans, the uncovered teeth gave her a fish-like, dead look--it seemed as though the dead might smile as she smiled now and then. Gavrik stood beside her and looked at her with lips compressed and fear in his eyes. "Go to bed!" said Lunev to him.