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The Story of Marie 73unhappiness equal to his. He was there to be treated for insanity.In my opinion he was not mad, simply frightfully miserable;that was all that was the matter with him. And if only you knewwhat our children were to him in the end…But I’d better tell youabout that patient another time. I’ll tell you now how it all began.At first the children didn’t take to me. I was so big, I am alwaysso clumsy; I know I am ugly too…and then I was a foreigner. Thechildren used to laugh at me at first, and they began throwingstones at me after they saw me kiss Marie. And I only kissed heronce…No, don’t laugh.” Myshkin made haste to check the smileon the faces of his listeners. “It was not a question of love. If onlyyou knew what an unhappy being she was, you would be verysorry for her, as I was.“She lived in our village. Her mother was an old woman. Oneof the two windows of their tumbledown little house was setapart, by permission of the village authorities, and from it the oldwoman was allowed to sell laces, thread, tobacco and soap. It allcame to a few halfpence and that was what she lived on. She wasan invalid; her legs were all swollen so that she could not movefrom her seat. Marie was her daughter, a girl of twenty, weakand thin. She had been consumptive for a long time, but shewent from house to house doing hard work – scrubbing floors,washing, sweeping out yards and minding cattle. A French commercialtraveller seduced her and took her away, and a week laterdeserted her and went off on the sly. She made her way homebegging, all mud-stained and in rags, with her shoes coming topieces. She was a week walking back, had spent the nights in thefields and caught a fearful cold. Her feet were covered with sores,her hands were chapped and swollen. She wasn’t pretty before,though; only her eyes were gentle, kind, and innocent. She wasextremely silent. Once when she was at work she began singing,