tion in her belief!

I attempted to dissipate her sombre thoughts; but I soon perceived that
everything brought them back to her mind, and that the sight of this
savage nature, whose solitude affected my own thoughts with sorrow,
contributed to increase her melancholy. Within her own dwelling she was
less agitated, but more depressed; her fever was then languid, and her
beautiful face despoiled of that expression, full of agreeable
recollections, that animated her in our private conversation. These
walks could only make her worse, and I endeavoured to avoid them. She
understood my meaning. "Go," said she, "kind Frenchman, you are taking
fruitless care; Wassili has taken my life away with him; it cannot
return any more than he can."

I still continued to see her frequently. Old Michael was unhappy because
she wept on hearing even the name of Aphanassi; he foresaw that it would
be out of his power to have this wealthy man for his son-in-law, for his
promises had gained his heart long ago. However this may be, he made his
preparations in secret, bought fine silks, and ordered a magnificent
diadem to be made for his daughter. She guessed his object, and once
said to me, "My father is preparing a handsome ornament for me; it is
intended for the last time I shall be at church; let him make haste, for
Daria won't keep him waiting."

About the middle of June Aphanassi returned, more in love and more eager
than ever, and, as soon as he appeared, the daughter of Michael was
attacked by a burning fever that never left her. In a few days she was
at the gates of death. All the care bestowed upon her was of no avail,
and she died pronouncing the name of Wassili.

Full of profound grief, I followed her body to the church of the
Stareobratzi, at Nishnei-Taguil. It had been dressed in her finest
clothing, and she was placed in the coffin with her face uncovered. The
relations, friends, and members of the same church were present. The men
were ranged on one side, and the women on the other. After a funeral
hymn, in the language of the country, the priest, who was bare-headed,
pronounced the eulogium of the defunct. His grey hair, long beard,
Asiatic gown, and loud sobs, gave his discourse a peculiar solemnity.
When it was finished, every one came forward silently to bid farewell to
Daria, and kiss her hand. I went like the rest; like them I went alone
towards the coffin, took hold of the hand I had so often pressed, and
gave it the l