it was two years after my visit that panteley eremyitch's troubles began--his real troubles. disappointments, disasters, even misfortunes he had had before that time, but he had paid no attention to them, and had risen superior to them in former days. the first blow that fell upon him was the most heartrending for him. masha left him.

what induced her to forsake his roof, where she seemed to be so thoroughly at home, it is hard to say. tchertop-hanov to the end of his days clung to the conviction that a certain young neighbour, a retired captain of uhlans, named yaff, was at the root of masha's desertion. he had taken her fancy, according to panteley eremyitch, simply by constantly curling his moustaches, pomading himself to excess, and sniggering significantly; but one must suppose that the vagrant gypsy blood in masha's veins had more to do with it. however that may have been, one fine summer evening masha tied up a few odds and ends in a small bundle, and walked out of tchertop-hanov's house.

for three days before this she had sat crouched up in a corner, huddled against the wall, like a wounded fox, and had not spoken a word to any one; she had only turned her eyes about, and twitched her eyebrows, and faintly gnashed her teeth, and moved her arms as though she were wrapping herself up. this mood had come upon her before, but had never lasted long: tchertop-hanov knew that, and so he neither worried himself nor worried her. but when, on coming in from the kennels, where, in his huntsman's words, the last two hounds 'had departed,' he met a servant girl who, in a trembling voice, informed him that marya akinfyevna sent him her greetings, and left word that she wished him every happiness, but she was not coming back to him any more; tchertop-hanov, after reeling round where he stood and uttering a hoarse yell, rushed at once after the runaway, snatching up his pistol as he went.

he overtook her a mile and a half from his house, near a birch wood, on the high-road to the district town. the sun was sinking on the horizon, and everything was suddenly suffused with purple glow--trees, plants, and earth alike.

'to yaff! to yaff!' groaned tchertop-hanov directly he caught sight of masha. 'going to yaff!' he repeated, running up to her, and almost stumbling at every step.

masha stood still, and turned round facing him.

she stood with her back to the light, and looked all black, as though she had been carved out of dark wood; only the whites of her eyes stood out like silvery almonds, but the eyes themselves--the pupils--were darker than ever.

she flung her bundle aside, and folded her arms. 'you are going to yaff, wretched girl!' repeated tchertop-hanov, and he was on the point of seizing her by the shoulder, but, meeting her eyes, he was abashed, and stood uneasily where he was.

'i am not going to mr. yaff, panteley eremyitch,' replied masha in soft, even tones; 'it's only i can't live with you any longer.'

'can't live with me? why not? have i offended you in some way?'

masha shook her head. 'you've not offended me in any way, panteley eremyitch, only my heart is heavy in your house.... thanks for the past, but i can't stay--no!'

tchertop-hanov was amazed; he positively slapped his thighs, and bounced up and down in his astonishment.

'how is that? here she's gone on living with me, and known nothing but peace and happiness, and all of a sudden--her heart's heavy! and she flings me over! she goes and puts a kerchief on her head, and is gone. she received every respect, like any lady.'

'i don't care for that in the least,' masha interrupted.

'don't care for it? from a wandering gypsy to turn into a lady, and she doesn't care for it! how don't you care for it, you low-born slave? do you expect me to believe that? there's treachery hidden in it--treachery!'

he began frowning again.

'there's no treachery in my thoughts, and never has been,' said masha in her distinct, resonant voice; 'i've told you already, my heart was heavy.'

'masha!' cried tchertop-hanov, striking himself a blow on the chest with his fist; 'there, stop it; hush, you have tortured me... now, it's enough! o my god! think only what tisha will say; you might have pity on him, at least!'

'remember me to tihon ivanitch, and tell him...'

tchertop-hanov wrung his hands. 'no, you are talking nonsense--you are not going! your yaff may wait for you in vain!'

'mr. yaff,' masha was beginning....

'a fine mister yaff!' tchertop-hanov mimicked her. 'he's an underhand rascal, a low cur--that's what he is--and a phiz like an ape's!'

for fully half-an-hour tchertop-hanov was struggling with masha. he came close to her, he fell back, he shook his fists at her, he bowed down before her, he wept, he scolded.

...'i can't,' repeated masha; 'i am so sad at heart... devoured by weariness.'

little by little her face assumed such an indifferent, almost drowsy expression, that tchertop-hanov asked her if they had not drugged her with laudanum.

'it's weariness,' she said for the tenth time.

'then what if i kill you?' he cried suddenly, and he pulled the pistol out of his pocket.

masha smiled; her face brightened.

'well, kill me, panteley eremyitch; as you will; but go back, i won't.'

'you won't come back?' tchertop-hanov cocked the pistol.

'i won't go back, my dearie. never in my life will i go back. my word is steadfast.'

tchertop-hanov suddenly thrust the pistol into her hand, and sat down on the ground.

'then, you kill me! without you i don't care to live. i have grown loathsome to you--and everything's loathsome for me!'

masha bent down, took up her bundle, laid the pistol on the grass, its mouth away from tchertop-hanov, and went up to him.

'ah, my dearie, why torture yourself? don't you know what we gypsy girls are? it's our nature; you must make up your mind to it. when there comes weariness the divider, and calls the soul away to strange, distant parts, how is one to stay here? don't forget your masha; you won't find such another sweetheart, and i won't forget you, my dearie; but our life together's over!'

'i loved you, masha,' tchertop-hanov muttered into the fingers in which he had buried his face....

'and i loved you, little friend panteley eremyitch.'

'i love you, i love you madly, senselessly--and when i think now that you, in your right senses, without rhyme or reason, are leaving me like this, and going to wander over the face of the earth--well, it strikes me that if i weren't a poor penniless devil, you wouldn't be throwing me over!'

at these words masha only laughed.

'and he used to say i didn't care for money,' she commented, and she gave tchertop-hanov a vigorous thump on the shoulder.

he jumped up on to his feet.

'come, at least you must let me give you some money--how can you go like this without a halfpenny? but best of all: kill me! i tell you plainly: kill me once for all!'

masha shook her head again. 'kill you? why get sent to siberia, my dearie?'

tchertop-hanov shuddered. 'then it's only from that--from fear of penal servitude.'

he rolled on the grass again.

masha stood over him in silence. 'i'm sorry for you, dear,' she said with a sigh: 'you're a good fellow... but there's no help for it: good-bye!'

she turned away and took two steps. the night had come on by now, and dim shadows were closing in on all sides. tchertop-hanov jumped up swiftly and seized masha from behind by her two elbows.

'you are going away like this, serpent, to yaff!'

'good-bye!' masha repeated sharply and significantly; she tore herself away and walked off.

tchertop-hanov looked after her, ran to the place where the pistol was lying, snatched it up, took aim, fired.... but before he touched the trigger, his arm twitched upwards; the ball whistled over masha's head. she looked at him over her shoulder without stopping, and went on, swinging as she walked, as though in defiance of him.

he hid his face--and fell to running.

but before he had run fifty paces he suddenly stood still as though turned to stone. a well-known, too well-known voice came floating to him. masha was singing. 'it was in the sweet days of youth,' she sang: every note seemed to linger plaintive and ardent in the evening air. tchertop-hanov listened intently. the voice retreated and retreated; at one moment it died away, at the next it floated across, hardly audible, but still with the same passionate glow.

'she does it to spite me,' thought tchertop-hanov; but at once he moaned, 'oh, no! it's her last farewell to me for ever,'--and he burst into floods of tears.

the next day he appeared at the lodgings of mr. yaff, who, as a true man of the world, not liking the solitude of the country, resided in the district town, 'to be nearer the young ladies,' as he expressed it. tchertop-hanov did not find yaff; he had, in the words of his valet, set off for moscow the evening before.

'then it is so!' cried tchertop-hanov furiously; 'there was an arrangement between them; she has run away with him... but wait a bit!'

he broke into the young cavalry captain's room in spite of the resistance of the valet. in the room there was hanging over the sofa a portrait in oils of the master, in the uhlan uniform. 'ah, here you are, you tailless ape!' thundered tchertop-hanov; he jumped on to the sofa, and with a blow of his fist burst a big hole in the taut canvas.

'tell your worthless master,' he turned to the valet, 'that, in the absence of his own filthy phiz, the nobleman tchertop-hanov put a hole through the painted one; and if he cares for satisfaction from me, he knows where to find the nobleman tchertop-hanov! or else i'll find him out myself! i'll fetch the rascally ape from the bottom of the sea!'

saying these words, tchertop-hanov jumped off the sofa and majestically withdrew.

but the cavalry captain yaff did not demand satisfaction from him--indeed, he never met him anywhere--and tchertop-hanov did not think of seeking his enemy out, and no scandal followed. masha herself soon after this disappeared beyond all trace. tchertop-hanov took to drink; however, he 'reformed' later. but then a second blow fell upon him.