oly men are any help."

"Nina, why can't you sleep at night?" Laptev asked, to change the
subject.

"Oh, well, I don't go to sleep--that's all. I lie and think."

"What do you think about, dear?"

"About the children, about you . . . about my life. I've gone through
a great deal, Alyosha, you know. When one begins to remember and
remember. . . . My God!" She laughed. "It's no joke to have borne
five children as I have, to have buried three. . . Sometimes I was
expecting to be confined while my Grigory Nikolaitch would be sitting
at that very time with another woman. There would be no one to send
for the doctor or the midwife. I would go into the passage or the
kitchen for the servant, and there Jews, tradesmen, moneylenders,
would be waiting for him to come home. My head used to go round
. . . . He did not love me, though he never said so openly. Now I've
grown calmer--it doesn't weigh on my heart; but in old days, when
I was younger, it hurt me--ach! how it hurt me, darling! Once--
while we were still in the country--I found him in the garden
with a lady, and I walked away. . . I walked on aimlessly, and I
don't know how, but I found myself in the church porch. I fell on
my knees: 'Queen of Heaven!' I said. And it was night, the moon was
shining. . . ."

She was exhausted, she began gasping for breath. Then, after resting
a little, she took her brother's hand and went on in a weak, toneless
voice:

"How kind you are, Alyosha! . . . And how clever! . . . What a good
man you've grown up into!"

At midnight Laptev said good-night to her, and as he went away he
took with him the parasol that Yulia Sergeyevna had forgotten. In
spite of the late hour, the servants, male and female, were drinking
tea in the dining-room. How disorderly! The children were not in
bed, but were there in the dining-room, too. They were all talking
softly in undertones, and had not noticed that the lamp was smoking
and would soon go out. All these people, big and little, were
disturbed by a whole succession of bad omens and were in an oppressed
mood. The glass in the hall had been broken, the samovar had been
buzzing every day, and, as though on purpose, was even buzzing now.
They were describing how a mouse had jumped out of Nina Fyodorovna's
boot when she was dressing. And the children were quite aware of
the terrible significance of these omens. The elder girl, Sasha, a
thin little brunette, was sitting motionless at the table, and her