"MY SON PETER: We received the 15th of this month the letter in which
you ask our paternal benediction and consent to your marriage with
Mironoff's daughter. Not only have I no intention of giving either my
consent or benediction, but I have a great mind to go to you and punish
you for your childish follies, notwithstanding your officer's rank,
because you have proved that you are not worthy to bear the sword which
was given you for the defense of your country, and not for the purpose
of fighting a duel with a fool of your own stamp. I shall write
instantly to Andrew Karlovitch to transfer you from the fortress of
Belogorsk to some still more distant place. Upon hearing of your wound
your mother was taken ill, and is still confined to her bed. What will
become of you? I pray God to reform you, but can scarcely hope for so
much from his goodness. Your father, A.G."


The harsh expressions which my father had not spared, wounded me
sorely; the contempt with which he treated Marie seemed to me as unjust
as it was undignified. Then the mere idea of being sent from this
fortress alarmed me; but above all, I grieved for my mother's illness.
Saveliitch came in for a share of my indignation, not doubting but that
he informed my parents of the duel. After having paced up and down my
little chamber, I stopped suddenly before the old man and said: "It
seems that it is not enough that you caused my wound, and brought
me almost to the brink of the grave, but that you want to kill my
mother too!"

Saveliitch was as motionless as if lightning had struck him. "Have
mercy on me! my lord," said he, "what do you deign to tell me? I