You should be burned in the fire--just as frying-pans are burned out on the first Monday of Lent." Raising her hands she abruptly loosened her hair, and when it fell over her shoulders in heavy, black locks--the woman shook her head haughtily and said, with contempt: "Never mind that I am leading a loose life! It often happens, that the man who lives in filth is purer than he who goes about in silks.

If you only knew what I think of you, you dogs, what wrath I bear against you! And because of this wrath--I am silent! For I fear that if I should sing it to you--my soul would become empty.

I would have nothing to live on." Foma looked at her, and now he was pleased with her.

In her words there was something akin to his frame of mind.

Laughing, he said to her, with satisfaction on his face and in his voice: "And I also feel that something is growing within my soul.