"How we have petitioned for you, Seryozhenka! Father--''

"You should not have done that, mother----"

The colonel spoke firmly:

"We had to do it, Sergey, so that you should not think your parents
had forsaken you."

They became silent again. It was terrible for them to utter even a
word, as though each word in the language had lost its individual
meaning and meant but one thing- Death. Sergey looked at his father's
coat, which smelt of benzine, and thought: "They have no servant now,
consequently he must have cleaned it himself. How is it that I never
before noticed when he cleaned his coat? I suppose he does it in the
morning." Suddenly he asked:

"And how is sister? Is she well?" "Ninochka does not know anything,"
the mother answered hastily.

The colonel interrupted her sternly: "Why should you tell a falsehood?
The child read it in the newspapers. Let Sergey know that
everybody-that those who are dearest to him-were thinking of him-at
this time-and--"

He could not say any more and stopped. Suddenly the mother's face
contracted, then it spread out, became agitated, wet and wild-looking.
Her discolored eyes stared blindly, and her breathing became more
frequent, and briefer, louder.