dren and no means at all.'

'But you had an estate!'

'Oh, we sold that while Vasya was still alive, and the money was all
spent. We had to live, and like all our young ladies I did not know how
to earn anything. I was particularly useless and helpless. So we spent
all we had. I taught the children and improved my own education a
little. And then Mitya fell ill when he was already in the fourth
form, and God took him. Masha fell in love with Vanya, my son-in-law.
And--well, he is well-meaning but unfortunate. He is ill.'

'Mamma!'--her daughter's voice interrupted her--'Take Mitya! I can't be
in two places at once.'

Praskovya Mikhaylovna shuddered, but rose and went out of the room,
stepping quickly in her patched shoes. She soon came back with a boy of
two in her arms, who threw himself backwards and grabbed at her shawl
with his little hands.

'Where was I? Oh yes, he had a good appointment here, and his chief
was a kind man too. But Vanya could not go on, and had to give up his
position.'

'What is the matter with him?'

'Neurasthenia--it is a dreadful complaint. We consulted a doctor, who
told us he ought to go away, but we had no means.... I always hope it
will pass of itself. He has no particular pain, but...'

'Lukerya!' cried an angry and feeble voice. 'She is always sent away
when I want her. Mamma...'

'I'm coming!' Praskovya Mikhaylovna again interrupted herself. 'He has
not had his dinner yet. He can't eat with us.'

She went out and arranged something, and came back wiping her thin dark
hands.

'So that is how I live. I always complain and am always dissatisfied,
but thank God the grandchildren are all nice and healthy, and we can
still live. But why talk about me?'

'But what do you live on?'

'Well, I earn a little. How I used to dislike music, but how useful it
is to me now!' Her small hand lay on the chest of drawers beside which
she was sitting, and she drummed an exercise with her thin fingers.

'How much do you get for a lesson?'

'Sometimes a ruble, sometimes fifty kopeks, or sometimes thirty. They
are all so kind to me.'

'And do your pupils get on well?' asked Kasatsky with a slight smile.

Praskovya Mikhaylovna did not at first believe that he was asking
seriously, and looked inquiringly into his eyes.

'Some of them do. One of them is a splendid girl--the butcher's
daughter--such a good kind girl! If I were a clever woman I ought, of
course, with the connexions Papa had,