eft trace horse and to
put Bobtchinsky (that was the name of one of her husband's horses)
in the shafts.

"His wife listened to him and said:

"'Do as you think best, but it makes no difference to me now.
Before the summer I shall be in the cemetery.'

"Her husband, of course, shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

"'I am not joking,' she said. 'I tell you in earnest that I shall
soon be dead.'

"'What do you mean by soon?'

"'Directly after my confinement. I shall bear my child and die.'

"The husband attached no significance to these words. He did not
believe in presentiments of any sort, and he knew that ladies in
an interesting condition are apt to be fanciful and to give way to
gloomy ideas generally. A day later his wife spoke to him again of
dying immediately after her confinement, and then every day she
spoke of it and he laughed and called her a silly woman, a
fortune-teller, a crazy creature. Her approaching death became an
_idee fixe_ with his wife. When her husband would not listen to her
she would go into the kitchen and talk of her death to the nurse
and the cook.

"'I haven't long to live now, nurse,' she would say. 'As soon as
my confinement is over I shall die. I did not want to die so early,
but it seems it's my fate.'

"The nurse and the cook were in tears, of course. Sometimes the
priest's wife or some lady from a neighbouring estate would come
and see her and she would take them aside and open her soul to them,
always harping on the same subject, her approaching death. She spoke
gravely with an unpleasant smile, even with an angry face which
would not allow any contradiction. She had been smart and fashionable
in her dress, but now in view of her approaching death she became
slovenly; she did not read, she did not laugh, she did not dream
aloud. What was more she drove with her aunt to the cemetery and
selected a spot for her tomb. Five days before her confinement she
made her will. And all this, bear in mind, was done in the best of
health, without the faintest hint of illness or danger. A confinement
is a difficult affair and sometimes fatal, but in the case of which
I am telling you every indication was favourable, and there was
absolutely nothing to be afraid of. Her husband was sick of the
whole business at last. He lost his temper one day at dinner and
asked her:

"'Listen, Natasha, when is there going to be an end of this
silliness?'

"'It's not silliness, I am in earnest.'

"