Suddenly something gripped her in the lower part of her body and back with such violence that her wailing was cut short, and she bit the pillow from the pain. But the pain let her go again at once, and she began sobbing again.

The maid came in, and arranging the quilt over her, asked in alarm:

“Mistress, darling, what is the matter?”

“Go out of the room,” said Pyotr Dmitritch sternly, going up to the bed.

“Understand⁠ ⁠… understand!⁠ ⁠…” Olga Mihalovna began.

“Olya, I entreat you, calm yourself,” he said. “I did not mean to hurt you. I would not have gone out of the room if I had known it would have hurt you so much; I simply felt depressed. I tell you, on my honour⁠ ⁠…”

“Understand!⁠ ⁠… You were lying, I was lying.⁠ ⁠…”

“I understand.⁠ ⁠… Come, come, that’s enough! I understand,” said Pyotr Dmitritch tenderly, sitting down on her bed. “You said that in anger; I quite understand. I swear to God I love you beyond anything on earth, and when I married you I never once thought of your being rich. I loved you immensely, and that’s all⁠ ⁠… I assure you. I have never been in want of money or felt the value of it, and so I cannot feel the difference between your fortune and mine. It always seemed to me we were equally well off. And that I have been deceitful in little things, that⁠ ⁠… of course, is true. My life has hitherto been arranged in such a frivolous way that it has somehow been impossible to get on without paltry lying. It weighs on me, too, now.⁠ ⁠… Let us leave off talking about it, for goodness’ sake!”

Olga Mihalovna again felt in acute pain, and clutched her husband by the sleeve.

“I am in pain, in pain, in pain⁠ ⁠…” she said rapidly. “Oh, what pain!”