“And how you treat your servants!” the doctor went on, indignantly.  “You treat them as the lowest scoundrels, and don’t look upon them as human beings.  For example, allow me to ask, why did you dismiss me?  For ten years I worked for your father and afterwards for you, honestly, without vacations or holidays.  I gained the love of all for more than seventy miles round, and suddenly one fine day I am informed that I am no longer wanted.  What for?  I’ve no idea to this day.  I, a doctor of medicine, a gentleman by birth, a student of the Moscow University, father of a family—­am such a petty, insignificant insect that you can kick me out without explaining the reason!  Why stand on ceremony with me!  I heard afterwards that my wife went without my knowledge three times to intercede with you for me—­you wouldn’t receive her.  I am told she cried in your hall.  And I shall never forgive her for it, never!”

The doctor paused and clenched his teeth, making an intense effort to think of something more to say, very unpleasant and vindictive.  He thought of something, and his cold, frowning face suddenly brightened.

“Take your attitude to this monastery!” he said with avidity.  “You’ve never spared any one, and the holier the place, the more chance of its suffering from your loving-kindness and angelic sweetness.  Why do you come here?  What do you want with the monks here, allow me to ask you?  What is Hecuba to you or you to Hecuba?  It’s another farce, another amusement for you, another sacrilege against human dignity, and nothing more.  Why, you don’t believe in the monks’ God; you’ve a God of your own in your heart, whom you’ve evolved for yourself at spiritualist seances.  You look with condescension upon the ritual of the Church; you don’t go to mass or vespers; you sleep till midday. . . .  Why do you come here? . . .  You come with a God of your own into a monastery you have nothing to do with, and you imagine that the monks look upon it as a very great honour.  To be sure they do!  You’d better ask, by the way, what your visits cost the monastery.  You were graciously pleased to arrive here this evening, and a messenger from your estate arrived on horseback the day before yesterday to warn them of your coming.  They were the whole day yesterday getting the rooms ready and expecting you.  This morning your advance-guard arrived—­an insolent maid, who keeps running across the courtyard, rustling her skirts, pestering them with questions, giving orders. . . .  I can’t endure it!  The monks have been on the lookout all day, for if you were not met with due ceremony, there would be trouble!  You’d complain to the bishop!  ’The monks don’t like me, your holiness; I don’t know what I’ve done to displease them.  It’s true I’m a great sinner, but I’m so unhappy!’ Already one monastery has been in hot water over you.  The Father Superior is a busy, learned man; he hasn’t a free moment, and you keep sending for him to come to your rooms.  Not a trace of respect for age or for rank!  If at least you were a bountiful giver to the monastery, one wouldn’t resent it so much, but all this time the monks have not received a hundred roubles from you!”