ing some instructions about the Tivoli. But on the Sunday before
Easter, late in the evening, came a sudden ominous knock at the
gate; some one was hammering on the gate as though on a barrel--
boom, boom, boom! The drowsy cook went flopping with her bare feet
through the puddles, as she ran to open the gate.

"Please open," said some one outside in a thick bass. "There is a
telegram for you."

Olenka had received telegrams from her husband before, but this
time for some reason she felt numb with terror. With shaking hands
she opened the telegram and read as follows:

"IVAN PETROVITCH DIED SUDDENLY TO-DAY. AWAITING IMMATE INSTRUCTIONS
FUFUNERAL TUESDAY."

That was how it was written in the telegram--"fufuneral," and the
utterly incomprehensible word "immate." It was signed by the stage
manager of the operatic company.

"My darling!" sobbed Olenka. "Vanka, my precious, my darling! Why
did I ever meet you! Why did I know you and love you! Your poor
heart-broken Olenka is alone without you!"

Kukin's funeral took place on Tuesday in Moscow, Olenka returned
home on Wednesday, and as soon as she got indoors, she threw herself
on her bed and sobbed so loudly that it could be heard next door,
and in the street.

"Poor darling!" the neighbours said, as they crossed themselves.
"Olga Semyonovna, poor darling! How she does take on!"

Three months later Olenka was coming home from mass, melancholy and
in deep mourning. It happened that one of her neighbours, Vassily
Andreitch Pustovalov, returning home from church, walked back beside
her. He was the manager at Babakayev's, the timber merchant's. He
wore a straw hat, a white waistcoat, and a gold watch-chain, and
looked more a country gentleman than a man in trade.

"Everything happens as it is ordained, Olga Semyonovna," he said
gravely, with a sympathetic note in his voice; "and if any of our
dear ones die, it must be because it is the will of God, so we ought
have fortitude and bear it submissively."

After seeing Olenka to her gate, he said good-bye and went on. All
day afterwards she heard his sedately dignified voice, and whenever
she shut her eyes she saw his dark beard. She liked him very much.
And apparently she had made an impression on him too, for not long
afterwards an elderly lady, with whom she was only slightly acquainted,
came to drink coffee with her, and as soon as she was seated at
table began to talk about Pustovalov, saying that he was an excellen