nitch was a highly cultured man of most versatile
accomplishments. Our Grandmamma was evidently delighted to see him, and
his magnificent aspect and her liking for him inspired me with unbounded
admiration and reverence.

He asked why Mamma had not come to Moscow. "Ah," was the reply, "she
would have come if possible, but they have no income this year."

"I do not understand," replied the Prince. "Her Khabarovka is a
wonderful estate, and it must always bring in a fine revenue."

"I will tell you," said Grandmamma, sadly. "It seems to me that all the
pretexts are made simply to enable him to live a gay life here, while
she, angel of goodness that she is, suspects nothing. She believes him
in everything."

This conversation should not have been overheard by me, but, having
overheard it, I crept out of the room.

On the 16th of April, nearly six months later, serious news came from
Mamma. She wrote to Papa that she had contracted a chill, which had
caused a fever, that this was over, but had left her in such utter
weakness that she would never rise from her bed again, although those
about her were not aware of such a condition. She wished him to come to
her at once and to bring her two boys with him. She prayed that God's
holy will might be done.

On April 25th we reached our Petrovskoe home. Papa had been very sad and
thoughtful during the journey. We at once learned from the steward that
Mamma had not left her room for six days. I shall never forget what I
saw when we entered Mamma's room. She was unconscious. Her eyes were
open, but she saw nothing. We were led away. Mamma soon passed away.

She was dead, the funeral obsequies took place, and then our life went
on much as before. We rose, had our repasts, and retired to rest at the
same hours. Three days after the funeral the whole household removed to
Moscow. Grandmamma only learned what had happened when we arrived, and
her grief was terrible. She lay unconscious for a week, and the doctor
feared for her life, for she would not eat, speak, or take medicine.
When she recovered somewhat, her first thought was of us children. She
cried softly, spoke of Mamma, and tenderly caressed us.

_II.--Boyhood_

On our arrival in Moscow a change had taken place in my views of things.
My sentiment of reverence for Grandmamma had changed to one of sympathy.
As she covered my cheeks with kisses I realised that each kiss expressed
the thought "She is gone; I shall never