whole town
would hear of it; it would come to the headmaster's ears, would reach
the higher authorities--oh, it might lead to something! There would be
another caricature, and it would all end in his being asked to resign
his post....

"When he got up, Varinka recognized him, and, looking at his ridiculous
face, his crumpled overcoat, and his goloshes, not understanding what
had happened and supposing that he had slipped down by accident, could
not restrain herself, and laughed loud enough to be heard by all the
flats:

"'Ha-ha-ha!'

"And this pealing, ringing 'Ha-ha-ha!' was the last straw that put
an end to everything: to the proposed match and to Byelikov's earthly
existence. He did not hear what Varinka said to him; he saw nothing. On
reaching home, the first thing he did was to remove her portrait from
the table; then he went to bed, and he never got up again.

"Three days later Afanasy came to me and asked whether we should not
send for the doctor, as there was something wrong with his master. I
went in to Byelikov. He lay silent behind the curtain, covered with
a quilt; if one asked him a question, he said 'Yes' or 'No' and not
another sound. He lay there while Afanasy, gloomy and scowling, hovered
about him, sighing heavily, and smelling like a pothouse.

"A month later Byelikov died. We all went to his funeral--that is, both
the high-schools and the seminary. Now when he was lying in his coffin
his expression was mild, agreeable, even cheerful, as though he were
glad that he had at last been put into a case which he would never leave
again. Yes, he had attained his ideal! And, as though in his honour,
it was dull, rainy weather on the day of his funeral, and we all wore
goloshes and took our umbrellas. Varinka, too, was at the funeral, and
when the coffin was lowered into the grave she burst into tears. I have
noticed that Little Russian women are always laughing or crying--no
intermediate mood.

"One must confess that to bury people like Byelikov is a great pleasure.
As we were returning from the cemetery we wore discreet Lenten faces; no
one wanted to display this feeling of pleasure--a feeling like that we
had experienced long, long ago as children when our elders had gone
out and we ran about the garden for an hour or two, enjoying complete
freedom. Ah, freedom, freedom! The merest hint, the faintest hope of its
possibility gives wings to the soul, does it not?

"We returned from the cemetery in a