Whenever her acquaintances met Varvara they would refer more or less openly to her stratagem, accompanying their words with coarse jokes and impudent winks. She would smile insolently and would not admit it, but she did not deny it.
Others hinted to Grushina that they knew of her share in the forgery. She was frightened and came to Varvara, reproaching her for gossiping too much. Varvara said to, her with a smile:
“Now, don’t make such a fuss. I never had the least intention of telling anyone.”
“How did they find it out then?” asked Grushina hotly. “Of course I shouldn’t tell anyone, I’m not such a fool.”
“And I haven’t told anyone,” asserted Varvara.
“I want the letter back,” demanded Grushina, “or else he’ll begin to look at it closely and he’ll recognise from the handwriting that it’s a forgery.”
“Well, let him find out!” said Varvara. “Why should I stop to consider a fool?”
Grushina’s eyes gleamed and she shouted:
“It’s all very well for you who’ve got all you wanted, but I might be jailed on your account! No, I must have that letter, whatever you do. Because they can unmarry you as well, you know.”
“That’s all nonsense,” replied Varvara with her arms insolently akimbo. “You might announce it in the marketplace, but you couldn’t undo the marriage.”
“Not nonsense at all,” shouted Grushina. “There is no law that permits you to marry through deception. If Ardalyon Borisitch should let the authorities know about this affair and the affair went up to the Higher Court they’d settle your hash for you.”
Varvara got frightened and said:
“Now don’t be angry—I’ll get you the letter. There’s nothing to be afraid of—I’ll not give you away. I’m not such a beast as all that. I’ve got a soul too.”
“What’s a soul got to do with it?” said Grushina harshly. “A dog and a man have the same breath, but there is no soul. You live while you live.”
Varvara decided to steal the letter, though this was difficult. Grushina urged her to hurry. There was one hope—to take the letter from Peredonov when he was drunk. And he drank a great deal now. He had even not infrequently appeared at the gymnasia in a rather tipsy state and had made unpleasant remarks which had aroused repugnance in even the worst of the boys.
Once Peredonov returned from the billiard saloon more drunk than usual: they had baptised the new billiard balls. But he never let go of his wallet. As he managed to undress somehow, he stuck it under his pillow. He slept restlessly but profoundly, and during his sleep his mind wandered and he babbled about something terrible and monstrous. And these words inspired Varvara with a painful apprehension.
“Well, it’s nothing,” she encouraged herself. “So long as he doesn’t wake up.”
She had tried to waken him. She nudged him—he only muttered something and cursed violently, but did not awaken. Varvara lit a candle and placed it so that the light should not fall into Peredonov’s eyes. Numb with terror, she rose in the bed and slipped her hand under Peredonov’s pillow. The wallet was quite close but for a long time it seemed to elude her fingers. The candle burned dimly. Its light wavered. Timorous shadows ran on the walls and on the bed—evil little devils flashed by. The air was close and motionless. There was a smell of badly-distilled vodka. Peredonov’s snores and drunken ravings filled the bedroom. The whole place was like the incarnation of a nightmare.
Varvara took the letter with trembling hands and replaced the wallet. In the morning Peredonov looked for his letter, failed to find it, and shouted in a fright:
“Where’s the letter, Varya?”
Varvara felt very much afraid but concealed it and said:
“How should I know, Ardalyon Borisitch? You keep showing it to everyone, you must have dropped it. Or else someone has stolen it from you. You have a lot of friends and acquaintances that you get drunk with at night.”
Peredonov thought that the letter had been stolen by his enemies, most likely by Volodin. The letter was now in Volodin’s hands and later he would get the other papers and the appointment into his clutches, and he would go away to his inspectorship while Peredonov remained a disappointed beggar.
Peredonov decided that he must defend himself. Every day he wrote denunciations of his enemies: Vershina, the Routilovs, Volodin, his colleagues, who, it seemed to him, had their eye on the same position. In the evening he would take these denunciations to Roubovsky.
The Officer of the gendarmerie lived in a prominent place on the square near the gymnasia. Many people observed from their windows how often Peredonov entered the gates of the Officer of the gendarmerie.
But Peredonov thought that he was unobserved. He had good reason to take these denunciations at night, by the back way through the kitchen.
He kept the papers under his coat. It was noticeable at once that he was holding something. When it happened that he had to take his hand out to shake hands with someone, he clutched the papers under his coat with his left hand, and imagined that no one would guess that anything was there. When his acquaintances asked him where he was going he lied to them very clumsily, but
