“The tears prevent my writing more.  It may be that I shall never see you again.  I thank you, my darling beyond all price, for all the felicity with which you have surrounded me in this life.  Soon I shall appear before God Himself to pray that He may reward you.  Farewell, my dearest!  Remember that, if I am no longer here, my love will none the less never and Nowhere fail you.  Farewell, Woloda—­farewell, my pet!  Farewell, my Benjamin, my little Nicolinka!  Surely they will never forget me?”

With this letter had come also a French note from Mimi, in which the latter said: 

“The sad circumstances of which she has written to you are but too surely confirmed by the words of the doctor.  Yesterday evening she ordered the letter to be posted at once, but, thinking at she did so in delirium, I waited until this morning, with the intention of sealing and sending it then.  Hardly had I done so when Natalia Nicolaevna asked me what I had done with the letter and told me to burn it if not yet despatched.  She is forever speaking of it, and saying that it will kill you.  Do not delay your departure for an instant if you wish to see the angel before she leaves us.  Pray excuse this scribble, but I have not slept now for three nights.  You know how much I love her.”

Later I heard from Natalia Savishna (who passed the whole of the night of the 11th April at Mamma’s bedside) that, after writing the first part of the letter, Mamma laid it down upon the table beside her and went to sleep for a while.

“I confess,” said Natalia Savishna, “that I too fell asleep in the arm-chair, and let my knitting slip from my hands.  Suddenly, towards one o’clock in the morning, I heard her saying something; whereupon I opened my eyes and looked at her.  My darling was sitting up in bed, with her hands clasped together and streams of tears gushing from her eyes.

“‘It is all over now,’ she said, and hid her face in her hands.

“I sprang to my feet, and asked what the matter was.

“’Ah, Natalia Savishna, if you could only know what I have just seen!’ she said; yet, for all my asking, she would say no more, beyond commanding me to hand her the letter.  To that letter she added something, and then said that it must be sent off directly.  From that moment she grew, rapidly worse.”

XXVI —­ WHAT AWAITED US AT THE COUNTRY-HOUSE

On the 18th of April we descended from the carriage at the front door of the house at Petrovskoe.  All the way from Moscow Papa had been preoccupied, and when Woloda had asked him “whether Mamma was ill” he had looked at him sadly and nodded an affirmative.  Nevertheless he had grown more composed during the journey, and it was only when we were actually approaching the house that his face again began to grow anxious, until, as he leaped from the carriage and asked Foka (who had run breathlessly to meet us), “How is Natalia Nicolaevna now?” his voice, was trembling, and his eyes had filled with tears.  The good, old Foka looked at us, and then lowered his gaze again.  Finally he said as he opened the hall-door and turned his head aside:  “It is the sixth day since she has not left her bed.”