“Lubotshka had meant to write to you herself, but she has torn up three sheets of paper, saying:  ’I know what a quizzer Papa always is.  If he were to find a single fault in my letter he would show it to everybody.’  Katenka is as charming as usual, and Mimi, too, is good, but tiresome.

“Now let me speak of more serious matters.  You write to me that your affairs are not going well this winter, and that you wish to break into the revenues of Chabarovska.  It seems to me strange that you should think it necessary to ask my consent.  Surely what belongs to me belongs no less to you?  You are so kind-hearted, dear, that, for fear of worrying me, you conceal the real state of things, but I can guess that you have lost a great deal at cards, as also that you are afraid of my being angry at that.  Yet, so long as you can tide over this crisis, I shall not think much of it, and you need not be uneasy, I have grown accustomed to no longer relying, so far as the children are concerned, upon your gains at play, nor yet—­excuse me for saying so—­upon your income.  Therefore your losses cause me as little anxiety as your gains give me pleasure.  What I really grieve over is your unhappy passion itself for gambling—­a passion which bereaves me of part of your tender affection and obliges me to tell you such bitter truths as (God knows with what pain) I am now telling you.  I never cease to beseech Him that He may preserve us, not from poverty (for what is poverty?), but from the terrible juncture which would arise should the interests of the children, which I am called upon to protect, ever come into collision with our own.  Hitherto God has listened to my prayers.  You have never yet overstepped the limit beyond which we should be obliged either to sacrifice property which would no longer belong to us, but to the children, or—­It is terrible to think of, but the dreadful misfortune at which I hint is forever hanging over our heads.  Yes, it is the heavy cross which God has given us both to carry.

“Also, you write about the children, and come back to our old point of difference by asking my consent to your placing them at a boarding-school.  You know my objection to that kind of education.  I do not know, dear, whether you will accede to my request, but I nevertheless beseech you, by your love for me, to give me your promise that never so long as I am alive, nor yet after my death (if God should see fit to separate us), shall such a thing be done.

“Also you write that our affairs render it indispensable for you to visit St. Petersburg.  The Lord go with you!  Go and return as, soon as possible.  Without you we shall all of us be lonely.