and the reflection of my lamp in the window winked unpleasantly.  And with a feeling of jealousy and envy for what was going on downstairs, I listened and thought:  “I am master here; if I like, I can in a moment turn out all that fine crew.”  But I knew that all that was nonsense, that I could not turn out any one, and the word “master” had no meaning.  One may think oneself master, married, rich, a kammer-junker, as much as one likes, and at the same time not know what it means.

After supper some one downstairs began singing in a tenor voice.

“Why, nothing special has happened,” I tried to persuade myself.  “Why am I so upset?  I won’t go downstairs tomorrow, that’s all; and that will be the end of our quarrel.”

At a quarter past one I went to bed.

“Have the visitors downstairs gone?” I asked Alexey as he was undressing me.

“Yes, sir, they’ve gone.”

“And why were they shouting hurrah?”

“Alexey Dmitritch Mahonov subscribed for the famine fund a thousand bushels of flour and a thousand roubles.  And the old lady—­I don’t know her name—­promised to set up a soup kitchen on her estate to feed a hundred and fifty people.  Thank God...  Natalya Gavrilovna has been pleased to arrange that all the gentry should assemble every Friday.”

“To assemble here, downstairs?”

“Yes, sir.  Before supper they read a list:  since August up to today Natalya Gavrilovna has collected eight thousand roubles, besides corn.  Thank God....  What I think is that if our mistress does take trouble for the salvation of her soul, she will soon collect a lot.  There are plenty of rich people here.”

Dismissing Alexey, I put out the light and drew the bedclothes over my head.

“After all, why am I so troubled?” I thought.  “What force draws me to the starving peasants like a butterfly to a flame?  I don’t know them, I don’t understand them; I have never seen them and I don’t like them.  Why this uneasiness?”

I suddenly crossed myself under the quilt.

“But what a woman she is!” I said to myself, thinking of my wife. 
“There’s a regular committee held in the house without my knowing. 
Why this secrecy?  Why this conspiracy?  What have I done to them?  Ivan
Ivanitch is right—­I must go away.”

Next morning I woke up firmly resolved to go away.  The events of the previous day—­the conversation at tea, my wife, Sobol, the supper, my apprehensions—­worried me, and I felt glad to think of getting away from the surroundings which reminded me of all that.  While I was drinking my coffee the bailiff gave me a long report on various matters.  The most agreeable item he saved for the last.

“The thieves who stole our rye have been found,” he announced with a smile.  “The magistrate arrested three peasants at Pestrovo yesterday.”

“Go away!” I shouted at him; and a propos of nothing, I picked up the cake-basket and flung it on the floor.