“I’ve nobody, now you’ve left me, my darling,” she sobbed, after her husband’s funeral.  “How can I live without you, in wretchedness and misery!  Pity me, good people, all alone in the world!”

She went about dressed in black with long “weepers,” and gave up wearing hat and gloves for good.  She hardly ever went out, except to church, or to her husband’s grave, and led the life of a nun.  It was not till six months later that she took off the weepers and opened the shutters of the windows.  She was sometimes seen in the mornings, going with her cook to market for provisions, but what went on in her house and how she lived now could only be surmised.  People guessed, from seeing her drinking tea in her garden with the veterinary surgeon, who read the newspaper aloud to her, and from the fact that, meeting a lady she knew at the post-office, she said to her: 

“There is no proper veterinary inspection in our town, and that’s the cause of all sorts of epidemics.  One is always hearing of people’s getting infection from the milk supply, or catching diseases from horses and cows.  The health of domestic animals ought to be as well cared for as the health of human beings.”

She repeated the veterinary surgeon’s words, and was of the same opinion as he about everything.  It was evident that she could not live a year without some attachment, and had found new happiness in the lodge.  In any one else this would have been censured, but no one could think ill of Olenka; everything she did was so natural.  Neither she nor the veterinary surgeon said anything to other people of the change in their relations, and tried, indeed, to conceal it, but without success, for Olenka could not keep a secret.  When he had visitors, men serving in his regiment, and she poured out tea or served the supper, she would begin talking of the cattle plague, of the foot and mouth disease, and of the municipal slaughterhouses.  He was dreadfully embarrassed, and when the guests had gone, he would seize her by the hand and hiss angrily: 

“I’ve asked you before not to talk about what you don’t understand.  When we veterinary surgeons are talking among ourselves, please don’t put your word in.  It’s really annoying.”

And she would look at him with astonishment and dismay, and ask him in alarm:  “But, Voloditchka, what am I to talk about?”

And with tears in her eyes she would embrace him, begging him not to be angry, and they were both happy.

But this happiness did not last long.  The veterinary surgeon departed, departed for ever with his regiment, when it was transferred to a distant place—­to Siberia, it may be.  And Olenka was left alone.