'And then you threw it in my face, that you don't want to know me. "I'm a gentleman," say you.'
Ivan Afanasiitch began wringing his hands speechlessly. Vassilissa got back as far as the middle of the room.
'Well, God be with you, Ivan Afanasiitch. I'll keep myself to myself, and you keep yourself to yourself.'
'Nonsense, Vassilissa, nonsense,' Pyetushkov cut her short. 'You think again; look at me. You see I'm not myself. You see I don't know what I'm saying. . . You might have some feeling for me.'
'You keep on abusing me, Ivan Afanasiitch.'
'Ah, Vassilissa! Let bygones be bygones. Isn't that right? Come, you're not angry with me, are you?'
'You keep abusing me,' Vassilissa repeated.
'I won't, my love, I won't. Forgive an old man like me. I'll never do it in future. Come, you've forgiven me, eh?'
'God be with you, Ivan Afanasiitch.'
'Come, laugh then, laugh.'
Vassilissa turned away.
'You laughed, you laughed, my love!' cried Pyetushkov, and he capered about like a child.
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