too? His son-in-law,
the pedagogue?" contemptuously asked the general's wife.

"No! How could he come? He could not leave his service. And his son,
too, Peter Iurevitch, he cannot come at once. He is on duty, in
Transcaspia. It is a long way."

"Yes, it is a long way!" assented the general's wife, evidently busy
with other thoughts. "But tell me, Edouard Vicentevitch, this new
will, has it been written long?"

"It was drawn up only to-day. The draft was prepared last week, but
the general kept putting it off. But when his pains began this
morning...."

"Is it the end? Is it dangerous?" interrupted Olga Vseslavovna.

"Very--a very bad sign. When they began, Iuri Pavlovitch sent at once
for the lawyer. He was still here when you arrived."

"Yes. And the old will, which he made before, has been destroyed?"

"I do not know for certain. But I think not. Oh, no, I forgot. The
general was going to send a telegram."

"Yes? to send a telegram?"

The general's wife shrugged her shoulders, sadly shook her head, and
added:

"He is so changeable! so changeable! But I think it is all the same.
According to law, only the last will is valid?"

"Yes, without doubt; the last."

The general's wife bowed her head.

"What hurts me most," she whispered, with a bitter smile, bending
close to the young doctor, and leaning heavily on his arm, "what hurts
me most, is not the money. I am not avaricious. But why should he take
my child away from me? Why should he pass over her own mother, and
intrust her to her half-sister? A woman whom I do not know, who has
not distinguished herself by any services or good actions, so far as I
know. I shall not submit. I shall contest the will. The law must
support the right of the mother. What do you think, doctor?"

The doctor hastily assented, though, to tell the truth, he was not
thinking of anything at the moment, except the strange manner in which
the general's wife, while talking, pressed close to her companion.

At that moment a bell rang, and the general's loud voice was heard:

"Doctor! Edouard Vicentevitch!"

"Coming!" answered the doctor.

And leaving Olga Vseslavovna at the threshold of her room, he ran
quickly to the sick man.

"A vigorous voice--for a dying man! He shouts as he used to at the
manoeuvers!" thought the general's wife.

And her handsome face at once grew dark with the hate which stole over
it. This was only a passing expression, however; it rapidly gave plac