the leaves and stalks of dark-green fern which grew near the entrance-steps.  Some of the dogs were lying panting in the sun, while others were slinking under the vehicles to lick the grease from the wheels.  The air was filled with a sort of dusty mist, and the horizon was lilac-grey in colour, though no clouds were to be seen, A strong wind from the south was raising volumes of dust from the roads and fields, shaking the poplars and birch-trees in the garden, and whirling their yellow leaves away.  I myself was sitting at a window and waiting impatiently for these various preparations to come to an end.

As we sat together by the drawing-room table, to pass the last few moments en famille, it never occurred to me that a sad moment was impending.  On the contrary, the most trivial thoughts were filling my brain.  Which driver was going to drive the carriage and which the cart?  Which of us would sit with Papa, and which with Karl Ivanitch?  Why must I be kept forever muffled up in a scarf and padded boots?

“Am I so delicate?  Am I likely to be frozen?” I thought to myself.  “I wish it would all come to an end, and we could take our seats and start.”

“To whom shall I give the list of the children’s linen?” asked Natalia Savishna of Mamma as she entered the room with a paper in her hand and her eyes red with weeping.

“Give it to Nicola, and then return to say good-bye to them,” replied Mamma.  The old woman seemed about to say something more, but suddenly stopped short, covered her face with her handkerchief, and left the room.  Something seemed to prick at my heart when I saw that gesture of hers, but impatience to be off soon drowned all other feeling, and I continued to listen indifferently to Papa and Mamma as they talked together.  They were discussing subjects which evidently interested neither of them.  What must be bought for the house?  What would Princess Sophia or Madame Julie say?  Would the roads be good?—­and so forth.

Foka entered, and in the same tone and with the same air as though he were announcing luncheon said, “The carriages are ready.”  I saw Mamma tremble and turn pale at the announcement, just as though it were something unexpected.

Next, Foka was ordered to shut all the doors of the room.  This amused me highly.  As though we needed to be concealed from some one!  When every one else was seated, Foka took the last remaining chair.  Scarcely, however, had he done so when the door creaked and every one looked that way.  Natalia Savishna entered hastily, and, without raising her eyes, sat own on the same chair as Foka.  I can see them before me now-Foka’s bald head and wrinkled, set face, and, beside him, a bent, kind figure in a cap from beneath which a few grey hairs were straggling.  The pair settled themselves together on the chair, but neither of them looked comfortable.

I continued preoccupied and impatient.  In fact, the ten minutes during which we sat there with closed doors seemed to me an hour.  At last every one rose, made the sign of the cross, and began to say good-bye.  Papa embraced Mamma, and kissed her again and again.