man, as I heard afterwards, had been told off by the chief
of police to watch over Andrey Antonovitch, to do his utmost to get him
home, and in case of danger even to use force--a task evidently beyond
the man's power.

"They will wipe away the tears of the people whose houses have been
burnt, but they will burn down the town. It's all the work of four
scoundrels, four and a half! Arrest the scoundrel! He worms himself into
the honour of families. They made use of the governesses to burn down
the houses. It's vile, vile! Aie, what's he about?" he shouted, suddenly
noticing a fireman at the top of the burning lodge, under whom the roof
had almost burnt away and round whom the flames were beginning to flare
up. "Pull him down! Pull him down! He will fall, he will catch fire, put
him out!... What is he doing there?"

"He is putting the fire out, your Excellency."

"Not likely. The fire is in the minds of men and not in the roofs of
houses. Pull him down and give it up! Better give it up, much better!
Let it put itself out. Aie, who is crying now? An old woman! It's an old
woman shouting. Why have they forgotten the old woman?"

There actually was an old woman crying on the ground floor of the
burning lodge. She was an old creature of eighty, a relation of the
shopkeeper who owned the house. But she had not been forgotten; she had
gone back to the burning house while it was still possible, with the
insane idea of rescuing her feather bed from a corner room which was
still untouched. Choking with the smoke and screaming with the heat, for
the room was on fire by the time she reached it, she was still trying
with her decrepit hands to squeeze her feather bed through a broken
window pane. Lembke rushed to her assistance. Every one saw him run up
to the window, catch hold of one corner of the feather bed and try with
all his might to pull it out. As ill luck would have it, a board fell at
that moment from the roof and hit the unhappy governor. It did not
kill him, it merely grazed him on the neck as it fell, but Andrey
Antonovitch's career was over, among us at least; the blow knocked him
off his feet and he sank on the ground unconscious.

The day dawned at last, gloomy and sullen. The fire was abating; the
wind was followed by a sudden calm, and then a fine drizzling rain fell.
I was by that time in another part, some distance from where Lembke had
fallen, and here I overheard very strange conversations in the crowd. A
s