My father remembered his father well, because he was already
nine years old when he died. He loved him, too, and always spoke
of him reverently; but one always felt that his mother's memory,
although he had never known her, was dearer to him, and his love
for her far greater than for his father.

Even to this day I do not exactly know the story of the sale
of the old house. My father never liked talking about it, and
for that reason I could never make up my mind to ask him the
details of the transaction. I only know that the house was sold
for five thousand paper rubles [3] by one of his relatives, who
had charge of his affairs by power of attorney when he was in the
Caucasus.

[3] About $3000.

It was said to have been done in order to pay off my father's
gambling debts. That was quite true.

My father himself told me that at one time he was a great
card-player, that he lost large sums of money, and that his
financial affairs were considerably embarrassed.

The only thing about which I am in doubt is whether it was
with my father's knowledge or by his directions that the house
was sold, or whether the relative in question did not exceed his
instructions and decide on the sale of his own initiative.

My father cherished his parents' memory to such an extent,