proud that he won't understand that, will find it a vale of tears."

He was very fond of the phrase "a vale of tears." One day--it was
in Christmas week, when I was walking by the bazaar--he called
me into the butcher's shop, and not shaking hands with me, announced
that he had to speak to me about something very important. His face
was red from the frost and vodka; near him, behind the counter,
stood Nikolka, with the expression of a brigand, holding a bloodstained
knife in his hand.

"I desire to express my word to you," Prokofy began. "This incident
cannot continue, because, as you understand yourself that for such
a vale, people will say nothing good of you or of us. Mamma, through
pity, cannot say something unpleasant to you, that your sister
should move into another lodging on account of her condition, but
I won't have it any more, because I can't approve of her behaviour."

I understood him, and I went out of the shop. The same day my sister
and I moved to Radish's. We had no money for a cab, and we walked
on foot; I carried a parcel of our belongings on my back; my sister
had nothing in her hands, but she gasped for breath and coughed,
and kept asking whether we should get there soon.

XIX

At last a letter came from Masha.

"Dear, good M. A." (she wrote), "our kind, gentle 'angel' as the
old painter calls you, farewell; I am going with my father to America
for the exhibition. In a few days I shall see the ocean--so far