ad broken her bowl, and she must have our tureen in place of it; she
had declared that I had so arranged the matter with herself.

"This baseness on her part of course aroused my young blood to fever
heat; I jumped up, and away I flew.

"I arrived at the old woman's house beside myself. She was sitting in
a corner all alone, leaning her face on her hand. I fell on her like a
clap of thunder. 'You old wretch!' I yelled and all that sort of thing,
in real Russian style. Well, when I began cursing at her, a strange
thing happened. I looked at her, and she stared back with her eyes
starting out of her head, but she did not say a word. She seemed to
sway about as she sat, and looked and looked at me in the strangest
way. Well, I soon stopped swearing and looked closer at her, asked her
questions, but not a word could I get out of her. The flies were buzzing
about the room and only this sound broke the silence; the sun was
setting outside; I didn't know what to make of it, so I went away.

"Before I reached home I was met and summoned to the major's, so that it
was some while before I actually got there. When I came in, Nikifor met
me. 'Have you heard, sir, that our old lady is dead?' 'DEAD, when?' 'Oh,
an hour and a half ago.' That meant nothing more nor less than that she
was dying at the moment when I pounced on her and began abusing her.

"This produced a great effect upon me. I used to dream of the poor old
woman at nights. I really am not superstitious, but two days after, I
went to her funeral, and as time went on I thought more and more about
her. I said to myself, 'This woman, this human being, lived to a great
age. She had children, a husband and family, friends and relations; her
household was busy and cheerful; she was surrounded by smiling faces;
and then suddenly they are gone, and she is left alone like a solitary
fly... like a fly, cursed with the burden of her age. At last, God calls
her to Himself. At sunset, on a lovely summer's evening, my little old
woman passes away--a thought, you will notice, which offers much food
for reflection--and behold! instead of tears and prayers to start her
on her last journey, she has insults and jeers from a young ensign, who
stands before her with his hands in his pockets, making a terrible row
about a soup tureen!' Of course I was to blame, and even now that I have
time to look back at it calmly, I pity the poor old thing no less.
I repeat that I wonder at myself, for a