That was how it was written in the telegram — " fufuneral," and the utterly incomprehensible word " immate." It was signed by the stage manager of the operatic company.
" My darling I " sobbed Olenka. " Vanitchka, my precious, my darling I Why did I ever meet you I Why did I know you and love you I Your poor heart-broken Olenka is all alone without you I "
Kukin's funeral took place on Tuesday in Mos- cow, Olenka returned home on Wednesday, and as soon as she got indoors she threw herself on her bed and sobbed so loudly that it could be heard next door, and in the street.
" Poor darling I " the neighbours said, as they crossed themselves. " Olga Semyonovna, poor dar- ling I How she does take on I "
Three months later Olenka was coming home from mass, melancholy and in deep mourning. It hap- pened that one of her neighbours, Vassily Andreitch Pustovalov, returning home from church, walked back beside her. He was the manager at Babaka- yev's, the timber merchant's. He wore a straw hat, a white waistcoat, and a gold watch-chain, and looked more like a country gentleman than a man in trade.
" Everything happens as it is ordained, Olga Sem- yonovna," he said gravely, with a sympathetic note in his voice; " and if any of our dear ones die, it must be because it is the will of God, so we ought to have fortitude and bear it submissively."
After seeing Olenka to her gate, he said good-bye and went on. All day afterwards she heard his se- dately dignified voice, and whenever she shut her eyes she saw his dark beard. She liked him very much. And apparently she had made an impression on him too, for not long afterwards an elderly lady, with whom she was only slightly acquainted, came to drink coffee with her, and as soon as she was seated at table began to talk about Pustovalov, saying that he was an excellent man whom one could thoroughly depend upon, and that any girl would be glad to marry him. Three days later Pustovalov came him- self. He did not stay long, only about ten minutes, and he did not say much, but when he left, Olenka loved him — loved him so much that she lay awake all night in a perfect fever, and in the morning she sent for the elderly lady. The match was quickly arranged, and then came the wedding.
Pustovalov and Olenka got on very well together when they were married.
Usually he sat in the office till dinner-time, then he went out on business, while Olenka took his place, and sat in the office till evening, making up accounts and booking orders.
" Timber gets dearer every year; the price rises twenty per cent," she would say to her customers and friends. " Only fancy we used to sell local timber, and now Vassitchka always has to go for wood to the Mogilev district. And the freight I " she would add, covering her cheeks with her hands in horror. " The freight I "
It seemed to her that she had been in the timber trade for ages and ages, and that the most important and necessary thing in life was timber; and there was something intimate and touching to her in the very sound of words such as 11 baulk," " post," " beam," " pole," " scantling," " batten," ''lath," " plank," etc.
At night when she was asleep she dreamed of perfect mountains of planks and boards, and long strings of wagons, carting timber somewhere far away. She dreamed that a whole regiment of six- inch beams forty feet high, standing on end, was marching upon the timber-yard; that logs, beams, and boards knocked together with the resounding crash of dry wood, kept falling and getting up again, pil- ing themselves on each other. Olenka cried out in her sleep, and Pustovalov said to her tenderly: 11 Olenka, what's the matter, darling? Cross your- self I "
Her husband's ideas were hers. If he thought the room was too hot, or that business was slack, she thought the same. Her husband did not care for entertainments, and on holidays he stayed at home. She did likewise.
" You are always at home or in the office," her friends said to her. " You should go to the theatre, darling, or to the circus."
" Vassitchka and I have no time to go to theatres," she would answer sedately. " We have no time for nonsense. What's the use of these theatres? "
On Saturdays Pustovalov and she used to go to the evening service; on holidays to early mass, and they walked side by side with softened faces as they came home from church. There was a pleasant fragrance about them both, and her silk dress rustled agreeably. At home they drank tea, with fancy bread and jams of various kinds, and afterwards they ate pie. Every day at twelve o'clock there was a savoury smell of beet-root soup and of mutton or duck in their yard, and on fast-days of fish, and no one could pass the gate without feeling hungry. In the office the samovar was always boiling, and custo- mers were regaled with tea and cracknels. Once a week the couple went to the baths and returned side by side, both red in the face.
" Yes, we have nothing to complain of, thank God," Olenka used to say to her acquaintances. " I wish every one were as well off as Vassitchka and 1."
When Pustovalov went away to buy wood in the Mogilev district, she missed him dreadfully, lay awake and cried. A young veterinary surgeon in the army, called Smirnin, to whom they had let their lodge, used sometimes to come in in the evening. He used to talk to her and play cards with her, and this entertained her in her husband's absence. She was particularly interested in what he told her of his home life. He was married and had a little boy, but was separated from his wife because she had been unfaithful to him, and now he hated her and used to send her forty roubles a month for the mainte- nance of their son. And hearing of all this, Olenka sighed and shook her head. She was sorry for him.
" Well, God keep you," she used to say to him at parting, as she lighted him down the stairs with a candle. " Thank you for coming to cheer me up, and may the Mother of God give you health."
And she always expressed herself with the same sedateness and dignity, the same reasonableness, in imitation of her husband. As the veterinary sur- geon was disappearing behind the door below, she would say:
" You know, Vladimir Platonitch, you'd better make it up with your wife. You should forgive her for the sake of your son. You may be sure the little fellow understands."
And when Pustovalov came back, she told him in a low voice about the veterinary surgeon and his un- happy home life, and both sighed and shook their heads and talked about the boy, who, no doubt, missed his father, and by some strange connection of ideas, they went up to the holy ikons, bowed to the ground before them and prayed that God would give them children.
And so the Pustovalovs lived for six years quietly and peaceably in love and complete harmony.
But behold I one winter day after drinking hot tea in the office, Vassily Andreitch went out into the yard without his cap on to see about sending off some timber, caught cold and was taken ill. He had the best doctors, but he grew worse and died after four months' illness. And Olenka was a widow once more.
" I've nobody, now you've left me, my darling," she sobbed, after her husband's funeral. " How can I live without you, in wretchedness and misery I Pity me, good people, all alone in the world I "