to his tongue that free-and-easy unconstraint for which, in general, travelling salesmen are distinguished.  This former activity had, as well, brought him up against his real profession.  In some way, while going to Rostov-on-the-Don, he had contrived to make a very young sempstress fall in love with him.  This girl had not as yet succeeded in getting on the official lists of the police, but upon love and her body she looked without any lofty prejudices.  Horizon, at that time altogether a green youth, amorous and light-minded, dragged the sempstress after him on his wanderings, full of adventures and unexpected things.  After half a year she palled upon him dreadfully.  She, just like a heavy burden, like a millstone, hung around the neck of this man of energy, motion and aggressiveness.  In addition to that, there were the eternal scenes of jealousy, mistrust, the constant control and tears ... the inevitable consequences of long living together ...  Then he began little by little to beat his mate.  At the first time she was amazed, but from the second time quieted down, became tractable.  It is known, that “women of love” never know a mean in love relations.  They are either hysterical liars, deceivers, dissemblers, with a coolly-perverted mind and a sinuous dark soul; or else unboundedly self-denying, blindly devoted, foolish, naive animals, who know no bounds either in concessions or loss of self-esteem.  The sempstress belonged to the second category, and Horizon was soon successful, without great effort, in persuading her to go out on the street to traffic in herself.  And from that very evening, when his mistress submitted to him and brought home the first five roubles earned, Horizon experienced an unbounded loathing toward her.  It is remarkable, that no matter how many women Horizon met after this—­and several hundred of them had passed through his hands—­this feeling of loathing and masculine contempt toward them would never forsake him.  He derided the poor woman in every way, and tortured her morally, seeking out the most painful spots.  She would only keep silent, sigh, weep, and getting down on her knees before him, kiss his hands.  And this wordless submission irritated Horizon still more.  He drove her away from him.  She would not go away.  He would push her out into the street; but she, after an hour or two, would come back shivering from cold, in a soaked hat, in the turned-up brims of which the rain-water splashed as in waterspouts.  Finally, some shady friend gave Simon Yakovlevich the harsh and crafty counsel which laid a mark on all the rest of his life activity—­to sell his mistress into a brothel.  To tell the truth, in going into this enterprise, Horizon almost disbelieved at soul in its success.  But contrary to his expectation, the business could not have adjusted itself better.  The proprietress of an establishment (this was in Kharkov) willingly met his proposition half-way.  She had known long and well Simon Yakovlevich,