Taking care of him was enough, Margarita
said, to wear out the patience of the Madonna herself. There was
no pleasing him, whatever you did, and his tongue was never still a
minute. For her part, she believed that it must be as he said, that
the fiends had pushed him off the plank, and that the saints had
had their reasons for leaving him to his fate. A coldness and
suspicion gradually grew up in the minds of all the servants
towards him. His own reckless language, combined with
Margarita's reports, gave the superstitious fair ground for believing
that something had gone mysteriously wrong, and that the Devil
was in a fair way to get his soul, which was very hard for the old
man, in addition to all the rest he had to bear. The only alleviation
he had for his torments, was in having his fellow-servants, men
and women, drop in, sit by his pallet, and chat with him, telling
him all that was going on; and when by degrees they dropped off,
coming more and more seldom, and one by one leaving off coming
altogether, it was the one drop that overflowed his cup of misery;
and he turned his face to the wall, left off grumbling, and spoke
only when he must.
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