ght into the house when digging
out his uncle, and dragged a press against the entrance to the house,
as fresh snow penetrated through the splintered door.

He was so thoroughly wet through, that he was obliged to change his
clothes, and it was his Sunday suit, which was also his wedding suit,
that he put on. "Five years ago this very day," thought he, "what a
number of sledges were standing before the 'Lion!' if the guests that
day were only here now to save us from death!"

After a short sleep, Petrowitsch awoke, but he lay quite quiet. He
deliberately thought over all that had happened. In this extremity
neither haste nor lamentations were of the smallest avail. Yesterday he
had recalled the whole of his past life; it seemed as if, within that
short space of time, he had lived it all again, but now the end is
come. He said this to himself quite coolly. How he was to behave to
Lenz and Annele, he could not for some time decide. At last he called
Lenz, and asked for his clothes, as he wished to rise. Lenz said it was
very cold in the next room, and it was impossible to light the stove;
moreover, his uncle's clothes were quite wet. Petrowitsch, however,
still persisted on rising, and asked, "Can you not lend me a warm
dressing gown?"

"Yes, I have one belonging to my late father--will you put it on?"

"If you have no other, I suppose I must," said Petrowitsch, peevishly,
for in his heart it made him sad, and in fact nervous, to wear what his
brother had worn.

"You look now wonderfully like my poor father," cried Lenz, "as like as
possible, only you are not so tall."

"I had a hard time of it when I was young, or I should have been less
stunted," said Petrowitsch, looking at himself in the glass, as he came
into the room.

The raven screeched in the kitchen; Petrowitsch started at the noise,
and desired Lenz, in an imperious voice, to kill the bird instantly.

Lenz explained why he could not, and then peace was to be established
between Bueble and the house cat. Bueble continued to whine for a long
time, for the cat had scratched him severely, but was now shut up in
the kitchen, which had the good effect of making the raven silent.

Petrowitsch asked for some more brandy, and Lenz told him that
fortunately there were three bottles of it still remaining; they were
at least twelve years old, and had belonged to his mother. Petrowitsch
soon made a tumbler of hot punch. He became more conversible, and
exclaimed:-