but I talked him over . . . persuaded him. . . .  We began receiving Ivan Andreitch, and with him, of course, you.  If we had not, he would have been insulted.  I have a daughter, a son. . . .  You understand the tender mind, the pure heart of childhood . . . ’who so offendeth one of these little ones.’ . . .  I received you into my house and trembled for my children.  Oh, when you become a mother, you will understand my fears.  And every one was surprised at my receiving you, excuse my saying so, as a respectable woman, and hinted to me . . . well, of course, slanders, suppositions. . . .  At the bottom of my heart I blamed you, but you were unhappy, flighty, to be pitied, and my heart was wrung with pity for you.”

“But why, why?” asked Nadyezhda Fyodorovna, trembling all over.  “What harm have I done any one?”

“You are a terrible sinner.  You broke the vow you made your husband at the altar.  You seduced a fine young man, who perhaps had he not met you might have taken a lawful partner for life from a good family in his own circle, and would have been like every one else now.  You have ruined his youth.  Don’t speak, don’t speak, my dear!  I never believe that man is to blame for our sins.  It is always the woman’s fault.  Men are frivolous in domestic life; they are guided by their minds, and not by their hearts.  There’s a great deal they don’t understand; woman understands it all.  Everything depends on her.  To her much is given and from her much will be required.  Oh, my dear, if she had been more foolish or weaker than man on that side, God would not have entrusted her with the education of boys and girls.  And then, my dear, you entered on the path of vice, forgetting all modesty; any other woman in your place would have hidden herself from people, would have sat shut up at home, and would only have been seen in the temple of God, pale, dressed all in black and weeping, and every one would have said in genuine compassion:  ’O Lord, this erring angel is coming back again to Thee . . . .’  But you, my dear, have forgotten all discretion; have lived openly, extravagantly; have seemed to be proud of your sin; you have been gay and laughing, and I, looking at you, shuddered with horror, and have been afraid that thunder from Heaven would strike our house while you were sitting with us.  My dear, don’t speak, don’t speak,” cried Marya Konstantinovna, observing that Nadyezhda Fyodorovna wanted to speak.  “Trust me, I will not deceive you, I will not hide one truth from the eyes of your soul.  Listen to me, my dear. . . .  God marks great sinners, and you have been marked-out:  only think—­your costumes have always been appalling.”

Nadyezhda Fyodorovna, who had always had the highest opinion of her costumes, left off crying and looked at her with surprise.