Ivan'na! You must have
drunk some of your peach infusion instead of your usual herb tea."

"No, Afanasy Ivan'itch, I have not drunk my peach infusion," replied
Pulkheria Ivanovna. "I beg of you, Afanasy Ivan'itch, to fulfill my
wishes. When I die, bury me by the church wall. Put on me my grayish
gown,--the one with the small flowers on a cinnamon ground. My satin
gown with the red stripes you must not put on me: a corpse needs no
clothes; of what use are they to her? But it will be good for you. Make
yourself a fine dressing-gown, in case visitors come, so that you can
make a good appearance when you receive them."

"God knows what you are saying, Pulkheria Ivan'na!" said Afanasy
Ivanovitch. "Death will come some time; but you frighten me with such
remarks."

"Mind, Yavdokha," she said, turning to the housekeeper, whom she had
sent for expressly, "that you look after your master when I am dead, and
cherish him like the apple of your eye, like your own child. See that
everything he likes is prepared in the kitchen; that his linen and
clothes are always clean; that when visitors happen in, you dress him
properly, otherwise he will come forth in his old dressing-gown, for he
often forgets now whether it is a festival or an ordinary day."

Poor old woman! She had no thought for the great moment which was
awaiting her, nor of her soul, nor of the future life; she thought only
of her poor companion, with whom she had passed her life, and whom she
was about to leave an orphan and unprotected. After this fashion did she
arrange everything with great skill, so that after her death Afanasy
Ivanovitch might not perceive her absence. Her faith in her approaching
end was so firm, and her mind was so fixed upon it, that in a few days
she actually took to her bed, and was unable to swallow any nourishment.

Afanasy Ivanovitch was all attention, and never left her bedside.
"Perhaps you could eat something, Pulkheria Ivan'na," he said, gazing
uneasily into her eyes. But Pulkheria Ivanovna made no reply. At length,
after a long silence, she moved her lips as though desirous of saying
something--and her spirit fled.

Afanasy Ivanovitch was utterly amazed. It seemed to him so terrible that
he did not even weep. He gazed at her with troubled eyes, as though he
did not understand the meaning of a corpse.

Five years passed. Being in the vicinity at the end of the five years, I
went to the little estate of Afanasy Ivanovitch, to inquir