Frolov kissed Almer once more and muttering and dropping asleep as
he walked, began mounting the stairs, supported by two footmen.


THE MARSHAL'S WIDOW

ON the first of February every year, St. Trifon's day, there is an
extraordinary commotion on the estate of Madame Zavzyatov, the widow
of Trifon Lvovitch, the late marshal of the district. On that day,
the nameday of the deceased marshal, the widow Lyubov Petrovna has
a requiem service celebrated in his memory, and after the requiem
a thanksgiving to the Lord. The whole district assembles for the
service. There you will see Hrumov the present marshal, Marfutkin,
the president of the Zemstvo, Potrashkov, the permanent member of
the Rural Board, the two justices of the peace of the district, the
police captain, Krinolinov, two police-superintendents, the district
doctor, Dvornyagin, smelling of iodoform, all the landowners, great
and small, and so on. There are about fifty people assembled in
all.

Precisely at twelve o'clock, the visitors, with long faces, make
their way from all the rooms to the big hall. There are carpets on
the floor and their steps are noiseless, but the solemnity of the
occasion makes them instinctively walk on tip-toe, holding out their
hands to balance themselves. In the hall everything is already
prepared. Father Yevmeny, a little old man in a high faded cap,
puts on his black vestments. Konkordiev, the deacon, already in his
vestments, and as red as a crab, is noiselessly turning over the
leaves of his missal and putting slips of paper in it. At the door
leading to the vestibule, Luka, the sacristan, puffing out his