husband, also, deemed it much more fitting that
Fedya's education should be entrusted to Glafira. Ivan Petrovitch's
poor wife could not withstand this blow, could not endure this second
parting: without a murmur, in a few days she expired. During the whole
course of her life, she had never been able to offer resistance, and she
did not combat her malady. She could no longer speak, the shadows of the
tomb had already descended upon her face, but her features, as of old,
expressed patient perplexity, and the steadfast gentleness of submission;
with the same dumb humility she gazed at Glafira, and, like Anna
Pavlovna on her deathbed, she kissed the hand of Piotr Andreitch, and
pressed her lips to Glafira's hand also, entrusting to her, Glafira,
her only son. Thus ended its earthly career a kind and gentle being,
torn, God alone knows why, from its native soil and immediately flung
aside, like an uprooted sapling, with its roots to the sun; it faded
away, it vanished, without a trace, that being, and no one mentioned it.
Those who grieved for Malanya Sergyeevna were her maid and Piotr
Andreitch. The old man missed her silent presence. "Forgive--farewell,
my patient one!" he whispered, as he made her the parting reverence in
church. He wept as he threw a handful of earth into the grave.

He did not long survive her--not more than five years. In the winter of
1819, he died peacefully in Moscow, whither he had removed with Glafira
and his grandson, and left orders in his will, that he should be buried
by the side of Anna Pavlovna and "Malasha." Ivan Petrovitch was in
Paris at the time, for his pleasure; he had resigned from the service
soon after 1815. On hearing of his father's death, he decided to return
to Russia. It was necessary to consider the organisation of the estate
... and Fedya, according to Glafira's letter, had reached the age of
twelve years, and the time had arrived for occupying himself seriously
with the boy's education.

-----

[3] Serfs were not addressed with their patronymic by their superiors.
--Translator.

X

Ivan Petrovitch returned to Russia an Anglomaniac. His closely-clipped
hair, starched neckcloth, long-skirted, yellowish-gray overcoat with a
multitude of capes, his sour expression of visage, a certain harshness
and also indifference of demeanour, his manner of talking through his
teeth, a wooden, abrupt laugh, the absence of smiles, a con