“Yes, my queen; it’s your own money, my joy.”
“Get away then, all of you. I shall do as I like with my own — don’t meddle! Ferdishenko, make up the fire, quick!”
“Nastasia Philipovna, I can’t; my hands won’t obey me,” said Ferdishenko, astounded and helpless with bewilderment.
“Nonsense,” cried Nastasia Philipovna, seizing the poker and raking a couple of logs together. No sooner did a tongue of flame burst out than she threw the packet of notes upon it.
Everyone gasped; some even crossed themselves.
“She’s mad — she’s mad!” was the cry.