“She died in a strange way.  One fine day her husband went in to her and said that it wouldn’t be amiss to sell their old coach before the spring and to buy something rather newer and lighter instead, and that it might be as well to change the left trace horse and to put Bobtchinsky (that was the name of one of her husband’s horses) in the shafts.

“His wife listened to him and said: 

“’Do as you think best, but it makes no difference to me now.  Before the summer I shall be in the cemetery.’

“Her husband, of course, shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

“‘I am not joking,’ she said.  ’I tell you in earnest that I shall soon be dead.’

“‘What do you mean by soon?’

“‘Directly after my confinement.  I shall bear my child and die.’

“The husband attached no significance to these words.  He did not believe in presentiments of any sort, and he knew that ladies in an interesting condition are apt to be fanciful and to give way to gloomy ideas generally.  A day later his wife spoke to him again of dying immediately after her confinement, and then every day she spoke of it and he laughed and called her a silly woman, a fortune-teller, a crazy creature.  Her approaching death became an idee fixe with his wife.  When her husband would not listen to her she would go into the kitchen and talk of her death to the nurse and the cook.

“‘I haven’t long to live now, nurse,’ she would say.  ’As soon as my confinement is over I shall die.  I did not want to die so early, but it seems it’s my fate.’

“The nurse and the cook were in tears, of course.  Sometimes the priest’s wife or some lady from a neighbouring estate would come and see her and she would take them aside and open her soul to them, always harping on the same subject, her approaching death.  She spoke gravely with an unpleasant smile, even with an angry face which would not allow any contradiction.  She had been smart and fashionable in her dress, but now in view of her approaching death she became slovenly; she did not read, she did not laugh, she did not dream aloud.  What was more she drove with her aunt to the cemetery and selected a spot for her tomb.  Five days before her confinement she made her will.  And all this, bear in mind, was done in the best of health, without the faintest hint of illness or danger.  A confinement is a difficult affair and sometimes fatal, but in the case of which I am telling you every indication was favourable, and there was absolutely nothing to be afraid of.  Her husband was sick of the whole business at last.  He lost his temper one day at dinner and asked her: 

“’Listen, Natasha, when is there going to be an end of this silliness?’

“‘It’s not silliness, I am in earnest.’

“’Nonsense, I advise you to give over being silly that you may not feel ashamed of it afterwards.’

“Well, the confinement came.  The husband got the very best midwife from the town.  It was his wife’s first confinement, but it could not have gone better.  When it was all over she asked to look at her baby.  She looked at it and said: