After that, when in discussions with his village elders or stewards the blood rushed to his face and his fists began to clench, Nikoláy would turn the broken ring on his finger and would drop his eyes before the man who was making him angry. But he did forget himself once or twice within a twelvemonth, and then he would go and confess to his wife, and would again promise that this should really be the very last time.

“Márya, you must despise me!” he would say. “I deserve it.”

“You should go, go away at once, if you don’t feel strong enough to control yourself,” she would reply sadly, trying to comfort her husband.