"Also, you write about the children, and come back to our old point
of difference by asking my consent to your placing them at a
boarding-school. You know my objection to that kind of education. I
do not know, dear, whether you will accede to my request, but I
nevertheless beseech you, by your love for me, to give me your promise
that never so long as I am alive, nor yet after my death (if God should
see fit to separate us), shall such a thing be done.

"Also you write that our affairs render it indispensable for you to
visit St. Petersburg. The Lord go with you! Go and return as, soon as
possible. Without you we shall all of us be lonely.

"Spring is coming in beautifully. We keep the door on to the terrace
always open now, while the path to the orangery is dry and the
peach-trees are in full blossom. Only here and there is there a little
snow remaining, The swallows are arriving, and to-day Lubotshka brought
me the first flowers. The doctor says that in about three days' time I
shall be well again and able to take the open air and to enjoy the April
sun. Now, au revoir, my dearest one. Do not be alarmed, I beg of you,
either on account of my illness or on account of your losses at play.
End the crisis as soon as possible, and then return here with the
children for the summer. I am making wonderful plans for our passing of
it, and I only need your presence to realise them."

The rest of the letter was written in French, as well as in a strange,
uncertain hand, on another piece of paper. I transcribe it word for
word:

"Do not believe what I have just written to you about my illness. It is