copied the problem—nonsense! I must speak to my wife. Masha! Masha!"
Maria entered. Her face was round, kind natured; her hair was thin and colourless. In her hands she held some work—a child's dress.
"Well, Mitrosha, will you have dinner now?"
"No. Wait. I want to speak to you."
Maria put her work aside with alarm and gazed into her husband's face. Mitrofan turned away and said:
"Sit down."
Maria sat down, adjusted her dress, folded her arms, and prepared to listen to him.
"I am listening," she said, adjusting her dress once more.
"Do you know, Masha—I am a spy!" he said in a whisper, his voice quivering.
"What?"
"A spy, do you understand?"
Maria wrung her hands quietly and exclaimed:
"I knew it, unfortunate woman that I am—my God! my God!"
Jumping over to his wife, Mitrofan waved his fist at her very face, restrained himself with difficulty from striking her, and shouted so loudly that all became quiet in the house.
"Fool! Blockhead! You knew it. My God! How could you know it? My wife—my friend, all my thoughts—my money, everything——"
