He was never out of my mind. Well, one night -- it was in the spring -- I could not sleep. A little before daybreak, I heard a nightingale singing in the garden so sweetly, so wonderfully, that I could not help getting up and going out on the steps to listen to it. It sang and sang. All of a sudden I fancied that some one was calling to me with a voice like Vassily's -- low, like this -- 'Lasha!'[*] I looked round, and -- I suppose I was only half awake -- I missed my footing, slipped off the steps, and fell right down on the ground. I thought I was not much hurt, for I jumped up directly and went back to my room. But it seems I must have got some hurt inside. Let me wait a minute, Barin, to get my breath."

Loukeria stopped talking. I gazed at her in wonder. What astonished me most was that she told her tale in a tone that was almost lively, without a groan or a sigh, never complaining or asking for sympathy.

"From the time of that accident," continued Loukeria, "I began to fade and wither away. My skin darkened; first I found a difficulty in walking, then I could not use my legs any more. I could neither stand nor sit up, but had to be always lying down. I never cared to eat or drink, and continually grew worse and worse. Your mother kindly got doctors to see me, and had me sent to a hospital. But not the slightest good came of it all. And there was not a single doctor who could tell what was the matter with me. What didn't they do to me! They seared my back with hot irons, they placed me in pounded ice. But it was all of no use. After a time I seemed to get numb all over, and at last it was settled that there was no curing me. The gentry cannot be expected to keep cripples in their houses, so I was sent on here where I have some relations. And here I live, as you see."

Loukeria again stopped, and again tried to smile.

"But, it's dreadful, this state you're in!" I exclaimed, and not knowing what to say next, added: "And how about Vassily Poliakof?" not a very discreet question to ask.

Loukeria turned away her eyes a little.

"Poliakof? He was very unhappy for some time. And then he married another girl, one from Glinnoe. Do you know Glinnoe? It's not far off. Her name is Agra- fena. He was very fond of me; but he was a young man, you know; he couldn't always remain unmarried. And what sort of a helpmate should I have been for him? He has a wife who is good and comely, and they have children.