Adouev ceased reading, slowly tore the letter into four pieces and threw it under the table into a basket, and then stretched and yawned.
He took the other letter and began to read it also in an undertone.
" Dearest Brother, Gracious Sir, Piotr Ivanitch."
. , " What—a sister! " said Adouev, looking at the signature: *" Maria Gorbatov." He looked up at the ceiling, trying to
recollect something. "How is it?—some recollection— there, that's good—my brother was_ married to a Gorbatov; this is_htf.sistfav,thisj§==a"hl 1 rememberT**' V
Hefrowned and began to read. >
" Though fate has severed us, perhaps, for ever, and an ; abyss lies between us; years have rolled by "
He skipped a few lines and began further on:
"To the day of my death I shall remember that walk together near our lake, when you, at risk of your life and health, went knee-deep into the water and picked for me some great yellow flowers among the rushes, and how a kind • of juice ran out of the stems and stained our hands and ' you fetched water in your cap for us to wash them; we 1 laughed so much at it then. Ah, how happy I was that day! That flower I have still pressed in a book."
Adouev stopped. It was clear that this circumstance was . not very gratifying to him; he shook his head rather / suspiciously.
" But have you still kept the ribbons [he continued reading] that you snatched out of my drawer, in spite of my , entreaties ? "
" I snatched out a ribbon!" he said aloud, frowning ' angrily. He skipped a few more lines in silence and, read:
" But I was destined for the unwedded state, and have always been happy in it: there is no one to hinder my recalling those happy days."
" Ah, the old maid !" thought Piotr Ivanitch. " Isn't it astonishing she should still have yellow flowers in her mind? What more is there ? "
"Are you married, dearest brother, and to whom ? Who is that dear unknown friend, who smoothes the path of your existence ? tell me her name. I will love her like my own sister, and in my dreams her image will be joined with yours, and I will remember her in my prayers. But if you are not married, now what is the reason—write me frankly; no one will tear your secrets from me, I shall bury them in my bosom, and they shall be torn from me only together with my heart Do not delay; I am burning with eagerness to read your words, so incomprehensible "
" No, it's your words that are so incomprehensible!" thought Piotr Tvanitch.
"I did not know [he read] that our dear Sashenka had suddenly decided to visit the splendid metropolis— happy boy! he will see the magnificent houses and shops, will enjoy the luxuries of town, and will press his adored uncle to his bosom; but I—I—meanwhile shall be shedding tears over the memory of my own happy days. If I had known of his departure, I should have worked day and night and have embroidered a cushion for you: a negress with two dogs. You would not believe how often I have wept looking at that pattern; what is more sacred than friendship and fidelity ? Now I am possessed by one only thought; I shall devote my days to it; but I have no wool here good enough, and so I am venturing to beg you, dearest brother, to send me some like this pattern which I have enclosed, of the very best English wool as soon as possible from the first shop. But what am I saying ? what an awful thought arrests my pen! perhaps you have already forgotten me, and how should you remember the poor sufferer, who can but weep secluded from the world ? But no! I cannot think that you are a monster, like all men; no! my heart speaks and tells me that you have kept your old sentiment towards me—towards all—in the midst of all the pomps and pleasures of the great metropolis. This thought is a balm for my suffering heart. Forgive me, I cannot write more, my hand trembles.
" I remain till death yours,
"Maria Gorbatov."
"P.S.—Have you, brother, any good books by you? Send me some if you have any to spare; on every page I should remember you and weep, or get me some new from a shop, if they are not dear. They say the works of Mr. Zagoskin and of Mr. Marlinsky are very good—let it be those; and I have seen in the papers the title— 4 Of Prejudices' by Poozin—send me that—I can't endure prejudices."
Having read it through, Adouev was just going to get rid of the letter, but he stopped short.
a No," he thought, " I will keep it; there are people who make a speciality of such letters; some of them have whole collections—perhaps some one would be glad to have it.
He threw the letter into the beaded basket, which hung on the wall, then took up the third letter and began to read it:
"D ear B rother-in-law, Piotr Ivanitch^—Do you remeriflSerhow seventeen years ago we were preparing for your departure from us ? Now it has pleased God to send my own son on the same long journey. You will be delighted with him; he will remind you of our dear lamented Fedor Ivanitch. Sashenka is his father over again. God alone knows what my mother's heart has suffered in letting him go away to strange parts. I send him, my dear brother-in-law, straight to you; I was not willing he should lodge anywhere except with you "
Adouev again shook his head.
" Silly old woman !" he muttered and read on : " He might, in his inexperience, I daresay, have put up at the inn, but I knew that his uncle might feel hurt by that, and I bade him go straight to you. How delighted you will be when you see him! Don't let him want for advice, brother-in-law, and take him under your wing; I give him into your hands."
Piotr Ivanitch paused again.
u Of course you are all he has [he went on reading]. Look after him, don't spoil him too much, and don't be too severe with him; he is sure to get severity from some one, and strangers will be hard upon him, but he has no one to pet him, except his kinsman; and he is such an affectionate boy: you have only to see him and then you will not part with him. And tell the chief, in whose office he will be, to take care of my Sashenka and to treat him tenderly before all things; he has been tenderly cared for with me. Keep him from wine and cards. At night— you will no doubt sleep in the same room—Sashenka has a way of lying on his back; from this he is apt, dear heart, to toss and groan in his sleep; you must rouse him gently and turn him over, he will go off again at once; but in summer cover his mouth with a handkerchief, he is apt to sleep with it open and the tiresome flies are so troublesome in the morning; and don't let him want, either, in the matter of money."
Adouev frowned, but his face quickly brightened again, when he read further.
"But I am sending what is needful, and I have just put into his hands a thousand roubles, only don't let him waste it on trifles, and don't let sharpers get hold of him, to be sure one hears there are so many rascals and unscrupulous creatures of every sort in your metropolis. And, in conclusion, excuse all shortcomings, dear brother-in-law— I have quite got out of the habit of letter-writing.
" I remain, " Your respectful and affectionate sister-in-law,
" A. Adouev."
" P.S.—I send with this some presents from the country— some raspberries from our garden, some white honey, as clear as teardrops, some linen for two dozen shirts and some household preserves. Eat and wear them, and may they do you good, and when they are done, I will send more. And keep an eye over Yevsay : he is a quiet fellow and sober, but I daresay in time he will be spoiled, if he is you must let him have a whipping."
Piotr Ivanitch laid the letter deliberately on the table, still more deliberately took up a cigar, and after rolling it in his hands, began to smoke. He deliberated a long while on the trick, as he mentally called it, which his sister-in-law was playing upon him. He began to analyse closely what they were doing with him and what he ought to do himself.