"Then look here . . ." began Eugene, but he did not finish the sentence. She had gone close up to the drum and was raking the corn from under it, and she scorched him with her laughing eyes. That look spoke of a merry careless love between them, of the fact that she knew he wanted her and had come to her shed, and that she, as always, was ready to live and be merry with him regardless of all conditions or consequences. Eugene felt himself to be in her power, but did not wish to yield.
He remembered his prayer and tried to repeat it. He began saying it to himself, but at once felt that it was useless. A single thought now engrossed him entirely: how to arrange a meeting with her so that the others should not notice it.
"If we finish this lot to-day, are we to start on a fresh stack or leave it till to-morrow?" asked the clerk.
"Yes, yes," replied Eugene, involuntarily following her to the heap to which with the other women she was raking the corn.
"But can I really not master myself?" said he to himself. "Have I really perished? Oh, God! But there is no God. There is only a devil. And it is she. She has possessed me. But I won't, I won't! A devil, yes, a devil."
Again he went up to her, drew the revolver from his pocket and shot her, once, twice, thrice, in the back. She ran a few steps and fell on the heap of corn.
"Good Lord, oh dear! What is that?" cried the women.
"No, it was not an accident. I killed her on purpose," cried Eugene. "Send for the police-officer."
He went home and, without speaking to his wife, went to his study and locked himself in.
"Do not come to me," he cried to his wife through the door. "You will know all about it."