Stroeve gavea little gasp. He wiped his face. He turned to me for support, but I did notknow what to say.

"He's agreat artist. "

"What doI care? I hate him. "

"Oh, mylove, my precious, you don't mean that. I beseech you to let me bring him here.We can make him comfortable. Perhaps we can save him. He shall be no trouble toyou. I will do everything. We'll make him up a bed in the studio. We can't lethim die like a dog. It would be inhuman. "

"Whycan't he go to a hospital?"

"Ahospital! He needs the care of loving hands. He must be treated with infinitetact. "

I wassurprised to see how moved she was. She went on laying the table, but her handstrembled.

"I haveno patience with you. Do you think if you were ill he would stir a finger tohelp you?"

"Butwhat does that matter? I should have you to nurse me. It wouldn't be necessary.And besides, I'm different; I'm not of any importance. "

"Youhave no more spirit than a mongrel cur. You lie down on the ground and askpeople to trample on you. "

Stroeve gavea little laugh. He thought he understood the reason of his wife's attitude.

"Oh, mypoor dear, you're thinking of that day he came here to look at my pictures.What does it matter if he didn't think them any good? It was stupid of me toshow them to him. I dare say they're not very good. "

施特略夫倒吸了一口气，抹了抹脸。他转过身来请求我支援，但是我不知道该说什么好。

“他是个了不起的画家。”

“那同我有什么关系？我讨厌这个人。”

“啊，我的亲爱的，我的宝贝，你不是这个意思吧！我求求你，让我把他弄到咱们家里吧。我们可以叫他过得舒服一些。也许我们能救他一命。他不会给你带来麻烦的。什么事都由我来做。我们可以在画室里给他架一张床。我们不能叫他象一条野狗似地死掉。太不人道了。”

“为什么他不能去医院呢？”

“医院！他需要爱抚的手来照顾。护理他必需要极其体贴才成。”

我发现勃朗什·施特略夫感情波动得这么厉害，觉得有点奇怪。她继续往桌上摆餐具，但是两只手却抖个不停。

“我对你简直失去耐心了。你认为如果你生了病，他会动一根手指头来帮助你吗？”

“那又有什么关系？我有你照顾啊。不需要他来帮忙。再说，我同他不一样；我这人一点也不重要。”

“你简直还不如一条杂种小狗有血性呢！你躺在地上叫人往你身上踩。”

施特略夫笑了一下。他以为自己了解他的妻子为什么采取这种态度。

“啊，可怜的宝贝，你还想着那次他来看我画的事呢。如果他认为我的画不好又有什么关系呢？那天我真不应该把画给他看，我敢说我画的画并不很好。”