mbers us in his prayers. . . Yes. . . ."

Nina Fyodorovna spoke more and more slowly with long pauses, then
after a brief silence she suddenly raised herself and sat up.

"There's something the matter with me . . . something seems wrong,"
she said. "Lord have mercy on me! Oh, I can't breathe!"

Sasha knew that her mother would soon die; seeing now how suddenly
her face looked drawn, she guessed that it was the end, and she was
frightened.

"Mother, you mustn't!" she began sobbing. "You mustn't."

"Run to the kitchen; let them go for father. I am very ill indeed."

Sasha ran through all the rooms calling, but there were none of the
servants in the house, and the only person she found was Lida asleep
on a chest in the dining-room with her clothes on and without a
pillow. Sasha ran into the yard just as she was without her goloshes,
and then into the street. On a bench at the gate her nurse was
sitting watching the tobogganing. From beyond the river, where the
tobogganing slope was, came the strains of a military band.

"Nurse, mother's dying!" sobbed Sasha. "You must go for father! . . ."

The nurse went upstairs, and, glancing at the sick woman, thrust a
lighted wax candle into her hand. Sasha rushed about in terror and
besought some one to go for her father, then she put on a coat and
a kerchief, and ran into the street. From the servants she knew
already that her father had another wife and two children with whom
he lived in Bazarny Street. She ran out of the gate and turned to
the left, crying, and frightened of unknown people. She soon began
to sink into the snow and grew numb with cold.

She met an empty sledge, but she did not take it: perhaps, she
thought, the man would drive her out of town, rob her, and throw
her into the cemetery (the servants had talked of such a case at
tea). She went on and on, sobbing and panting with exhaustion. When
she got into Bazarny Street, she inquired where M. Panaurov lived.
An unknown woman spent a long time directing her, and seeing that
she did not understand, took her by the hand and led her to a house
of one storey that stood back from the street. The door stood open.
Sasha ran through the entry, along the corridor, and found herself
at last in a warm, lighted room where her father was sitting by the
samovar with a lady and two children. But by now she was unable to
utter a word, and could only sob. Panaurov understood.

"Mother's worse?" he asked. "Tell me, child: