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been at his door to listen, and had come back to
the party in awful suspense, thinking that he
might be ill.
When the house was quiet, at last, he called
Aniuta, and the outburst of his anger was
dreadful.
Amongst all he said, there was one sentence
which imprinted itself for ever in her memory:
‘Anything may be expected of a young girl
capable of entering into correspondence with an
unknown man, and of taking money from him
without her parents’ knowledge! Now you sell
your work, but I am not sure that some day you
will not sell yourself!’
Poor Aniuta shrank from these awful words.
She felt indeed that they were not meant in
earnest, but her father spoke with such
conviction, his expression was so angry, and at the
same time so sad, his authority still so great in
her eyes, that for a moment she was seized with
a painful doubt. Had she deceived herself?
Had she, without knowing it, done something
which was dreadfully indecorous?
As usual, after such domestic scenes,
everybody looked crestfallen. The servants soon
knew all about it. Ilia had been eaves-dropping,
as was his praiseworthy habit; he had
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