Three months had not gone by before he received an appointment on the
staff of the Russian embassy in London, whither he set sail (steamers
were not even talked about then) in the first homeward bound English
vessel he could find. A few months later he received a letter from
Pestof. The kind-hearted gentleman congratulated him on the birth of a
son, who had come into the world at the village of Pokrovskoe, on the
20th of August, 1807, and had been named Fedor, in honor of the holy
martyr Fedor Stratilates. On account of her extreme weakness, Malania
Sergievna could add only a few lines. But even those few astonished
Ivan Petrovich; he was not aware that Marfa Timofeevna had taught his
wife to read and write.

It must not be supposed that Ivan Petrovich gave himself up for any
length of time to the sweet emotion caused by paternal feeling. He was
just then paying court to one of the celebrated Phrynes or Laises of
the day--classical names were still in vogue at that time. The peace
of Tilset was only just concluded,[A] and every one was hastening to
enjoy himself, every one was being swept round by a giddy whirlwind.
The black eyes of a bold beauty had helped to turn his head also. He
had very little money, but he played cards luckily, made friends,
joined in all possible diversions--in a word, he sailed with all sail
set.

[Footnote A: In consequence of which the Russian embassy was withdrawn
from London, and Ivan Petrovich probably went to Paris.]