son met in a warm embrace, and did not say a single word in reference
to their former quarrels. Nor was it a time for that. All Russia was
rising against the foe, and they both felt that Russian blood flowed
in their veins, Peter Andreich equipped a whole regiment of volunteers
at his own expense. But the war ended; the danger passed away. Ivan
Petrovich once more became bored, once more he was allured into the
distance, into that world in which he had grown up, and in which he
felt himself at home. Malania could not hold him back; she was valued
at very little in his eyes. Even what she really had hoped had not
been fulfilled. Like the rest, her husband thought that it was
decidedly most expedient to confide Fedia's education to Glafira.
Ivan's poor wife could not bear up against this blow, could not endure
this second separation. Without a murmur, at the end of a few days,
she quietly passed away.

In the course of her whole life she had never been able to resist any
thing; and so with her illness, also, she did not struggle. When she
could no longer speak, and the shadows of death already lay on her
face, her features still retained their old expression of patient
perplexity, of unruffled and submissive sweetness. With her usual
silent humility, she gazed at Glafira; and as Anna Pavlovna on her
death-bed had kissed the hand of Peter Andreich, so she pressed her
lips to Glafira's hand, as she confided to Glafira's care her only
child. So did this good and quiet being end her earthly career. Like a
shrub torn from its native soil, and the next moment flung aside, its
roots upturned to the sun, she withered and disappeared, leaving no
trace behind, and no one to grieve for her. It is true that her maids
regretted her, and so did Peter Andreich. The old man missed her
kindly face, her silent presence. "Forgive--farewell--my quiet one!"
he said, as he took leave of her for the last time, in the church. He