His wife used to come up to the door on tiptoe and listen.

Deep sighs were heard from behind the door--like the breathing of a tired and sickly horse.
"God! You see," whispered Ignat in a muffled voice, firmly pressing the palms of his hands to his broad breast.
During the days of repentance he drank nothing but water and ate only rye bread.
In the morning his wife placed at the door of his room a big bottle of water, about a pound and a half of bread, and salt.

He opened the door, took in these victuals and locked himself in again.

During this time he was not disturbed in any way; everybody tried to avoid him.

A few days later he again appeared on the exchange, jested, laughed, made contracts to furnish corn as sharp-sighted as a bird of prey, a rare expert at anything concerning his affairs.
But in all the moods of Ignat's life there was one passionate desire that never left him--the desire to have a son; and the older he grew the greater was this desire.