“See! He can’t come to his senses, he’s so glad,” said Dounyásha, implying that she despised both the peasant and the money. “Come, I’ll put it in for you.”

She was going to take it, but Doútlof would not let her. He crumpled the notes together, pushed them in farther, and took his cap.

“Glad?”

“I hardly know what to say! It’s just⁠ ⁠…”

He did not finish, but waved his hand, smiled, and went out, almost crying.

The mistress rang.

“Well, have you given it?”

“I have.”

“Well, was he very glad?”

“He was just like a madman.”