wearily against their neighbours, and others cropping the leaves and
stalks of dark-green fern which grew near the entrance-steps. Some of
the dogs were lying panting in the sun, while others were slinking under
the vehicles to lick the grease from the wheels. The air was filled with
a sort of dusty mist, and the horizon was lilac-grey in colour, though
no clouds were to be seen, A strong wind from the south was raising
volumes of dust from the roads and fields, shaking the poplars and
birch-trees in the garden, and whirling their yellow leaves away. I
myself was sitting at a window and waiting impatiently for these various
preparations to come to an end.

As we sat together by the drawing-room table, to pass the last few
moments en famille, it never occurred to me that a sad moment was
impending. On the contrary, the most trivial thoughts were filling my
brain. Which driver was going to drive the carriage and which the cart?
Which of us would sit with Papa, and which with Karl Ivanitch? Why must
I be kept forever muffled up in a scarf and padded boots?

"Am I so delicate? Am I likely to be frozen?" I thought to myself.
"I wish it would all come to an end, and we could take our seats and
start."

"To whom shall I give the list of the children's linen?" asked Natalia
Savishna of Mamma as she entered the room with a paper in her hand and
her eyes red with weeping.

"Give it to Nicola, and then return to say good-bye to them," replied
Mamma. The old woman seemed about to say something more, but suddenly
stopped short, covered her face with her handkerchief, and left the
room. Something seemed to prick at my heart when I saw that gesture of