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The fact was that up to the last moment he had never expected

such an ending; he had been overbearing to the last degree, never

dreaming that two destitute and defenceless women could escape

from his control. This conviction was strengthened by his vanity

and conceit, a conceit to the point of fatuity. Pyotr Petrovitch,

who had made his way up from insignificance, was morbidly given

to self-admiration, had the highest opinion of his intelligence

and capacities, and sometimes even gloated in solitude over his

image in the glass. But what he loved and valued above all was

the money he had amassed by his labour, and by all sorts of

devices: that money made him the equal of all who had been his

superiors.