contrary to expectation, the night passed quietly enough. emotion and weariness claimed their own; olga vseslavovna, in spite of all her efforts, fell into a sleep toward morning; and when she awoke, she started in dismay, noticing that the sun had already climbed high in the sky, and was pouring into her room.

her maid, a deft viennese, who had remained with this accommodating mistress for five years, quieted her by telling her that the master was better, that he was still asleep, not having slept for the greater part of the night.

"the doctor and yakov were busy with him most of the night," she explained. "they were sorting all sorts of papers; some of them they tied up, writing something on them; others they tore up, or threw into the fire. the grate is full of ashes. yakov told me."

"and there were no more telegrams?"

"no, madam, there were no more. yakov and our friedrich would have let me know at once; i was there in the anteroom; they both kept coming through on errands. but there were no more telegrams, except the two that were sent last night."

olga vseslavovna dressed, breakfasted, and went to her husband. but at the threshold of his room she was stopped by the direction of the sick man to admit no one without special permission except the doctor, or his eldest daughter, if she should come.

"tell edouard vicentevitch to come out to me," ordered the general's wife. the doctor was called, and in great confusion confirmed the general's orders.

"but perhaps he did not think that such an order could apply to me?" she said, astonished.

the doctor apologized, but had to admit that it was she who was intended, and that his excellency had sent word to her excellency that she should not give herself the trouble of visiting him.

"he is out of his mind," declared the general's wife quietly, but with conviction, shrugging her shoulders. "why should he hate me so—for all my love to him, an old man, who might have been my father?"

and olga vseslavovna once more took refuge in her pocket handkerchief, this time, instead of tears, giving vent to sobs of vexation.

the doctor, always shy in the presence of women, stood with hanging head and downcast eyes, as though he were to blame.

"what is it they are saying about you burning papers all night?"

olga vseslavovna asked, in a weak voice.

"oh, not nearly all night. iuri pavlovitch remembered that he ought to destroy some old letters and papers. there were some to be put in order. there, in the box, there is a packet addressed to your excellency. i was told to write the address."

"indeed! could i not see it?"

"oh no, on no account. they are all locked up in the box along with the last will. and the general has the keys."

a bitter smile of humiliation played about the young woman's lips.

"so the new will has not been burned yet?" she asked. and to the startled negative of the doctor, who repeated that "it was lying on the top of the papers in the box," she added:

"well, it will be burned yet. do not fear. especially if god in his mercy prolongs my husband's life. you see, he has always had a mysterious passion for writing new documents, powers of attorney, deeds of gift, wills, whatever comes into his mind. he writes new ones, and burns the old ones. but what can you do? we must submit to each new fancy. we cannot contradict a sick man."

olga vseslavovna went back to her room. she only left her bedroom for a few minutes that day, to hear the final word of the lights of the medical profession, who had come together for a general consultation in the afternoon; all the rest of the day she shut herself up. the conclusions of the physicians, though they differed completely in detail, were similar in the main, and far from comforting; the life and continued suffering of the sick man could not last more than a few days.

in the evening a telegram came from anna iurievna; she informed her father that she would be with him on the following day, at five in the afternoon.

"shall i be able to hold out? shall i last so long?" sighed the sick man, all day long. and the more he was disturbed in mind, the more threatening were his attacks of pain. he passed a bad night. toward morning a violent attack, much worse than any that had gone before, almost carried him away. he could hardly breathe, owing to the sharp suffering. hot baths for his hands and steam inhalations no longer had any beneficial effect, though they had alleviated his pain hitherto.

the doctor, the sister of mercy, and the servant wore themselves out. but still, as before, his wife alone was not admitted to him. she raged with anger, trying, and not without success, to convince everyone that she was going mad with despair. little olga had been taken away on the previous day by a friend of the general's, to stay there "during this terrible time." that night madame nazimoff did not go to bed at all; and, as befitted a devoted wife, did not quit her husband's door. when the violent attack just before dawn quieted down, she made an attempt to go in to him; but no sooner did the sick man see her at the head of his couch, on which he had at last been persuaded to lie, than strong displeasure was expressed in his face, and, no longer able to speak, he made an angry motion of his hand toward her, and groaned heavily. the sister of mercy with great firmness asked the general's wife not to trouble the sick man with her presence.

"and i am to put up with this. i am to submit to all this?" thought olga vseslavovna, writhing with wrath. "to endure all this from him, and after his death to suffer beggary? no, a thousand times no! better death than penury and such insults." and she fell into gloomy thought.

that gesture of displeasure at the sight of his wife was the last conscious act of iuri pavlovitch nazimoff. at eight in the morning he lost consciousness, in the midst of violent suffering, which lasted until the end. by the early afternoon he was no more.

during the last hour of his agony his wife knelt beside his couch without let or hindrance, and wept inconsolably. the formidable aristocrat and millionaire was dead.

everything went on along the usual lines. the customary stir and unceremonious bustle, instead of cautious whispering, rose around the dead body, in preparation for a fashionable funeral. no near relatives were present except his wife, and she was confined to her room, half-fainting, half-hysterical. all responsibility fell on the humble doctor, and he busied himself indefatigably, conscientiously, in the sweat of his brow, making every effort to omit nothing. but, as always happens, he omitted the most important thing of all. the early twilight was already descending on st. petersburg, shrouded in chilly mist, when edouard vicentevitch polesski struck his brow in despair; he had suddenly remembered the keys and the box, committed to his care by the dying man. at that moment, the body, dressed in full uniform, with all his regalia, was lying in the great, darkened room on a table, covered with brocade, awaiting the coffin and the customary wreaths. the doctor rushed into the empty bedroom. everything in it was already in order; the bed stood there, without mattress or pillows. there was nothing on the dressing table, either.

where were the keys? where was the box? the box was standing as before, untouched, locked. his heart at once felt lighter. but the keys? no doubt the police would come in a few minutes. it was astonishing that they had not come already. they would seal everything. everything must be in order. where was yakov? probably he had taken them. or . . . the general's wife?

polesski rushed to look for the manservant, but could not find him. there was so much to do; he had gone to buy something, to order something. "oh lord! and the announcement?" he suddenly remembered. it must be written at once, and sent to the newspapers. he must ask the general's wife, however, what words he should use. however much he might wish to avoid her, still she was now the most important person. and he could ask at the same time whether she had seen the keys.

the doctor went to the rooms of the general's wife. she was lying down, suffering severely, but she came out to him. "what words was he to use? it was all the same to her. 'with deep regret,' 'with heartfelt sorrow,' what did she care? the keys? what keys? no! she had not seen any keys, and did not know where they were. but why should he be disturbed about them? the servants were trustworthy; nothing would go astray."

"yes, but we must have them ready for the police. they will come in a few minutes, to seal up the dead man's papers!"

"to seal up the papers? why?"

"that is the law. so that everything should be intact, until after the last will and testament of the deceased has been read, according to his wishes."

general nazimoff's wife paled perceptibly. she knew nothing of such an obstacle, and had not expected it. the doctor was too busy to notice her pallor.

"very well; i shall write the announcement at once, and send it to the newspapers. i suppose 'novoe vremya' and 'novosti' will be enough?"

"do as you think best. write it here, in my room. here is everything you require; pens, paper. write, and then read it to me. i shall be back in a moment. i want to put a bandage round my head. it aches so. wait for me here." and the general's wife went from the sitting-room to her bedroom.

"rita!" she whispered to her faithful maid, who was hurriedly sewing a mourning gown of crape for her. "do not let the doctor go till i return. do you understand? do what you please, but do not let him go." the general's wife slipped from the bedroom into the passage through a small side door, and disappeared.

the two rooms between hers and the chamber where the dead man lay were quite empty and nearly dark; there were no candles in them. from the chamber came the feeble glimmer of the tiny lamps burning before the icons.* the tapers were not lit yet, as the deacon had not yet arrived. he was to come at the same time as the priest and the coffin. for the moment there was no one near the dead man; in the anteroom sat the sister of mercy.

* sacred images.

"you wish to pray?" she asked the general's wife.

"yes, i shall pray there, in his room."

she slipped past the dead body without looking at it, to the room that had been the general's bedroom, and closed the door behind her. she was afraid to lock it, and after all, was it necessary? it would only take a moment. there it is, the box! she knows it of old! and she knows its key of old, too; it is not so long since her husband had no secrets from her.

the key was quickly slipped into the lock, and the lid rose quickly. the paper? that new, detestable paper, which might deprive her of everything. ah! there it is!

to close the lid quickly, and turn the key in the lock; to hide the keys somewhere; here, between the seat and the back of the sofa, on which he lay. that's it!

a sigh of relief from fear escaped the beautiful lips of the handsome woman, lips which were pale through those terrible days. she could feel secure at last!

she must look at the document, the proof of his cruelty, his injustice, his stupidity! she must make sure that there was no mistake! olga vseslavovna went up to the window, and taking advantage of the last ray of the gray day, unfolded the will.

"in the name of the father, the son, and the holy spirit!" she read. yes, that is it, the will.

"how he pronounced those same words, when he was blessing little olga," she remembered. "blessing her! and his hand did not tremble, when he signed this. to deprive her, to deprive them both, of everything, all on account of those hated people? but now—it should never be! on no account! your down-at-the-heel pedagogue shall not strut about in peacock's feathers! olga and i . . . require the money more!"

and the general's wife was tempted to snap her fingers in triumph in the direction of the dead man.

suddenly, quite close to the door, the sound of steps was heard. good heavens! and she held the big sheet of crested paper in her hand! where could she put it? she had no time to think of folding it up. there! they are coming in already! who can it be?

and the will lay on the floor, the general's wife kneeling on it, as on a prayer carpet, in an attitude of prayer, her clasped hands on the window sill, her wet eyes fixed on a faintly twinkling star, as though calling heaven to witness her inconsolable grief and bereavement.

it was only the sister of mercy.

"madam, the people have come, bringing the coffin; and i think the police have also come."

"yes, in a moment. tell them i am coming immediately."

the sister of mercy went out.

"see how she loved her husband. and why was he so unjust to her at the last?" she involuntarily reproached the dead general.

meanwhile the general's wife had risen hastily, folded the will as best she could, in four, in eight folds, and crushing it together in her hand, went quietly from the room, which now filled her with dread.

she was so confused that she did not even think of looking for her pocket; she simply held her packet tight, and let her hand hang down, hiding it in the folds of her wide dressing-gown. there seemed to be so many people in the room which a moment before was empty, that she felt cowed. her heart beat pitilessly, and the blood throbbed so violently in her temples that she could not understand what was said to her. they were asking her if they might place the body in the coffin, which had already been placed beside it. her silence was taken as consent. the skilful undertakers easily lifted the already rigid body.

olga vseslavovna stood at the head of the dead general. among the crowd of undertakers and servants, she suddenly saw coming toward her, with outstretched hand, and with tears of compassion in her eyes, the princess ryadski, the same aristocratic kinswoman who had already taken little olga to stay with her.

"i must shake hands with her! and that horrible packet is in my hand! where shall i put it? how can i hide it?" before her eyes gleamed the brilliantly lighted, ashen forehead of the dead man, helplessly bent backward and sideways, as the whole body was suspended in the hands of the undertakers, over its last abode.

a saving thought!

the general's wife bent gently over the dead body. she gently supported the head of the corpse, gently laid it on the satin cushion, straightened the frills which surrounded the hard pillow, and, unperceived, left under it the twisted roll of paper.

"it will be safer there!" the thought flashed through her mind. "he wanted to keep his will himself; well, keep it to eternity, now! what more can you ask?"

and it even seemed ludicrous to her. she could hardly restrain a smile of triumph, changing it into a sad smile of grief, in reply to her kinswoman's condolences. the coffin was already lying in state on the bier; it was covered with brocade and flowers. the princess, as kinswoman of the late general, bent low, and first laid on the dead body the wreath she had brought with her.

"the poor sufferer has entered into rest," she whispered, shaking her head. "will the funeral service be soon? where will it be? where is olga vseslavovna?"

"she will be here in a moment," the sister of mercy whispered, deeply affected; "she has gone to fix herself. they will begin the funeral service in a few minutes, and she is all in disorder. she is in great grief. will you not take a seat?"

"what? sit down? thank you," loftily replied the princess. and she went toward a dignified personage who was entering, adorned with many orders and an aristocratic beard.

the general's wife soon came to herself. "rita! i must wash and dress as quickly as possible. ah! pray forgive me, doctor! they called me away to my husband. they were placing him in the coffin." she sighed deeply. "what is this? oh, yes, the announcement of his death. very good. send it, please. but i must dress at once. the funeral service will begin immediately."

"doctor! is the doctor here?" an anxious voice sounded in the corridor.

"i am coming! what is it?"

"please come quick, edouard vicentevitch!" yakov called him. "the lady is very ill downstairs; anna iurievna, the general's daughter! i was out to order the flowers; i come back, and see the lady lying in a faint in the entrance. she had just arrived, and asked; and they answered her that he was dead, without the slightest preparation! and she could not bear it, and fainted."

yakov said all this as they went.

"actress!" angrily thought olga vseslavovna. and immediately she added mentally, "well, she may stand on her head now, it is all the same to me!"