should not say."

"I understand, Nikolay Sergeyevich," answered the mother, weeping.

"And you must not weep. For God's sake, do not weep! You will kill him
if you weep, old woman!"

"Why do you weep?"

"With women one cannot help weeping. But you must not weep, do you
hear?"

"Very well, Nikolay Sergeyevich."

Riding in the drozhky, he had intended to school her in the
instructions again, but he forgot. And so they rode in silence, bent,
both gray and old, and they were lost in thought, while the city was
gay and noisy. It was Shrovetide, and the streets were crowded.

They sat down. Then the colonel stood up, assumed a studied pose,
placing his right hand upon the border of his coat. Sergey sat for an
instant, looked closely upon the wrinkled face of his mother and then
jumped up.

"Be seated, Seryozhenka," begged the mother.

"Sit down, Sergey," repeated the father.

They became silent. The mother smiled.