But before going to their beds all went into the veranda, where
liqueurs were served by the brave Ermolai, as always. Matrena
pushed the wheel-chair of the general there, and he kept repeating,
"No, no. No more such people. No more police. They only bring
trouble."

"Feodor! Feodor!" sighed Matrena, whose anxiety deepened in spite
of all she could do, "they watched over your dear life."

"Life is dear to me only because of you, Matrena Petrovna."

"And not at all because of me, papa?" said Natacha.

"Oh, Natacha!"

He took both her hands in his. It was an affecting glimpse of
family intimacy.

From time to time, while Ermolai poured the liqueurs, Feodor struck
his band on the coverings over his leg.

"It gets better," said he. "It gets better."

Then melancholy showed in his rugged face, and he watched night
deepen over the isles, the golden night of St. Petersburg. It was
not quite yet the time of year for what they call the golden nights
there, the "white nights," nights which never deepen to darkness,
but they were already beautiful in their soft clarity, caressed,
here by the Gulf of Finland, almost at the same time by the last