'I assure you I greatly regret it; I confess it is positively painful to me, genuinely painful . . .'
'You know best, sir,' Praskovia Ivanovna rejoined serenely. 'It's for you to decide, sir. And, oh, if you'll allow me, I'll give you your little account, sir.'
Pyetushkov had not at all anticipated such a prompt acquiescence. He had not desired acquiescence at all; he had only wanted to frighten Praskovia Ivanovna, and above all Vassilissa. He felt wretched.
'I know,' be began, 'this will not be disagreeable to Vassilissa; on the contrary, I believe she will be glad.'
Praskovia Ivanovna got out her reckoning beads, and began rattling the counters.
'On the other hand,' continued Pyetushkov, growing more and more agitated, 'if Vassilissa were, for instance, to give an explanation of her behaviour . . . possibly. . . Though, of course . . . I don't know, possibly, I might perceive that after all there was no great matter for blame in it.'
'There's thirty-seven roubles and forty kopecks in notes to your account, sir,' observed Praskovia Ivanovna. 'Here, would you be pleased to go through it?'
Ivan Afanasiitch made no reply.
'Eighteen dinners at seventy kopecks each; twelve roubles sixty kopecks.'
305
