intercourse for twenty years. Hearing that Ivan Matveitch was unwell, a
neighbour paid him a visit--a German, a Catholic--once a distinguished
physician, who was living in retirement in his little place in the
country. He was very rarely at Ivan Matveitch's, but the latter always
received him with special deference, and in fact had a great respect for
him. He was almost the only person in the world he did respect. The old
man advised Ivan Matveitch to send for a priest, but Ivan Matveitch
responded that 'ces messieurs et moi, nous n'avons rien a nous dire,'
and begged him to change the subject. On the neighbour's departure, he
gave his valet orders to admit no one in future.

Then he sent for me. I was frightened when I saw him; there were blue
patches under his eyes, his face looked drawn and stiff, his jaw hung
down. 'Vous voila grande, Suzon,' he said, with difficulty articulating
the consonants, but still trying to smile (I was then nineteen), 'vous
allez peut-etre bientot rester seule. Soyez toujours sage et vertueuse.
C'est la derniere recommandation d'un'--he coughed--'d'un vieillard qui
vous veut du bien. Je vous ai recommande a mon frere et je ne doute pas
qu'il ne respecte mes volontes....' He coughed again, and anxiously felt
his chest. 'Du reste, j'esepre encore pouvoir faire quelque chose pour
vous... dans mon testament.' This last phrase cut me to the heart, like
a knife. Ah, it was really too... too contemptuous and insulting! Ivan
Matveitch probably ascribed to some other feeling--to a feeling of grief
or gratitude--what was expressed in my face, and as though wishing to
comfort me, he patted me on the shoulder, at the same time, as usual,
gently repelling me, and observed: 'Voyons, mon enfant, du courage! Nous
sommes tous mortels! Et puis il n'y a pas encore de danger. Ce n'est
qu'une precaution que j'ai cru devoir prendre.... Allez!'

Again, just as when he had summoned me after my mother's death, I longed