the clear sky but the fields were still sparkling with dew; a fresh
breeze blew fragrantly from the scarce awakened valleys and in the
forest, still damp and hushed, the birds were merrily carolling their
morning song. On the ridge of a swelling upland, which was covered
from base to summit with blossoming rye, a little village was to be
seen. Along a narrow by-road to this little village a young woman was
walking in a white muslin gown, and a round straw hat, with a parasol
in her hand. A page boy followed her some distance behind.

She moved without haste and as though she were enjoying the walk. The
high nodding rye all round her moved in long softly rustling waves,
taking here a shade of silvery green and there a ripple of red; the
larks were trilling overhead. The young woman had come from her own
estate, which was not more than a mile from the village to which she
was turning her steps. Her name was Alexandra Pavlovna Lipin. She was
a widow, childless, and fairly well off, and lived with her brother, a
retired cavalry officer, Sergei Pavlitch Volintsev. He was unmarried
and looked after her property.

Alexandra Pavlovna reached the village and, stopping at the last hut,
a very old and low one, she called up the boy and told him to go in
and ask after the health of its mistress. He quickly came back
accompanied by a decrepit old peasant with a white beard.

'Well, how is she?' asked Alexandra Pavlovna.

'Well, she is still alive,' began the old man.

'Can I go in?'