The familiar sounds overwhelmed Stepan Trofimovitch. He began to tremble. But she had already stepped behind the screen. With flashing eyes she drew up a chair with her foot, and, sinking back in it, she shouted to Dasha:

“Go away for a time! Stay in the other room. Why are you so inquisitive? And shut the door properly after you.”

For some time she gazed in silence with a sort of predatory look into his frightened face.

“Well, how are you getting on, Stepan Trofimovitch? So you’ve been enjoying yourself?” broke from her with ferocious irony.

“ Chère ,” Stepan Trofimovitch faltered, not knowing what he was saying, “I’ve learnt to know real life in Russia⁠ ⁠… et je prêcherai l’Evangile. ”