The lad went into the shop, moved about a little there--then his head appeared again in the doorway. Masha sat motionless, only her eyes moved and wandered from one thing to another. Lunev poured her out some tea, looked at her, but asked her no questions. "Ye--es--he torments me so," she said. Her lips trembled and her eyes closed for a moment; when she opened them again two big, heavy tears rolled down from under the lashes. "Don't cry," said Ilya, turning away. "Drink your tea--and tell me all about it--then it will be easier." "I'm afraid--he'll come," she said, and shook her head. "We'll turn him out." "He's strong," Masha warned him. "Have you run away?" "Yes--it's the fourth time--when I can't bear it any more, I run away--before I meant to drown myself--but he caught me--and beat me and hurt me so." Her eyes grew unnaturally big from the fear her memories roused, and her lower jaw trembled. She hung her head and said in a whisper: "He always hurts my feet." "Ah," cried Ilya. "What's the matter with you? Haven't you a tongue? Tell the police--say--he tortures me! He can be punished for that; put in prison." "But--he's one of the judges," said Masha, hopelessly. "Ehrenov?--a judge? What do you mean?" "I know. A little while ago, he was on the bench for two weeks--judging. He came back angry and hungry. He pinched my breast with the tongs and twisted it and turned it like a rag--look!" She unbuttoned her dress with trembling fingers and showed the small withered breast, all covered with dark patches, as though it had been gnawed. "Don't!" said Ilya gloomily. It made him sick to see the tortured, lacerated body--he could not believe that it was Masha, the friend of his childhood, once so gay, who sat before him. She bared her shoulder and said in a toneless voice: "See how my shoulder is knocked about! Everything he can, all my body is pinched and hair torn out." "But why?" "He's a beast. He says, 'You don't love me,' and he pinches me." "Perhaps--before he married you, there was some one else?" "How could there be? I saw only you and Jakov--no one ever touched me. Yes, and now I hate all that. It hurts me. I hate it. I'm always sick." "Don't--don't--Masha," said Ilya gently. She was silent, sat once more as though turned to stone, her breast still bare. Ilya looked from behind the samovar again at her thin bruised body and said: "Do up your dress!" "I don't mind you," she answered mechanically, and began to button her blouse with shaking fingers. All was still. Then the sound of loud sobbing came from the shop. Ilya got up and went to the door and closed it, saying crossly: "Be quiet--Gavrushka--go to sleep!" "Is that the boy?" asked Masha. "Yes." "Crying?" "Yes." "Is he frightened?" "No. I think--he's sorry." "For what?" "For you."