DOSIA' 
 
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 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY GREVILLE 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
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 BOSTON 
 
 TICKNOR AND COMPANY 
 i 886
 
 Copyright, 1885 
 By TICKNOR AND COMPANY 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 PRESS OF 
 
 ROCKWELL AND CHURCHILL 
 BOSTON
 
 American 
 
 KNOWN AND UNKNOWN, 
 
 I DEDICATE THIS BOOK, 
 
 WRITTEN FOR THEM, 
 
 WITH MY HEARTY THANKS 
 
 FOR 
 THEIR KIND WELCOME. 
 
 HENRY GREVILLE. 
 BOSTON, Nov. 34, 1885.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 I. TWENTY YEARS OF MARRIED LIFE, 1 1 
 
 II. CONFESSIONS ........ 40 
 
 III. THE FOREST BURNS 72 
 
 IV. THE BEARS 103 
 
 V. SORROWS , 153 
 
 VI. ALONE 154 
 
 VII. A NEW EXPERIENCE 181 
 
 VIII. SEEKING A SITUATION 221 
 
 IX. AT SERVICE 234 
 
 X. AT SOUROVA 241 
 
 XI. TEACHING OF EVERY KIND . . . 252 
 
 XII. A NEW EXPERIMENT 271 
 
 XIII. WALKING 283
 
 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER
 
 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 TWENTY YEARS OF MARRIED LIFE. 
 
 "~\7"OUR health, my dear friends, and may 
 * you see many happy returns of the 
 day ! " said Pierre Mourief, raising his glass, 
 filled to the brim with champagne, to the level 
 of his eyes. 
 
 The hosts rose and replied to Mouriefs toast 
 with their usual good grace ; the children came 
 and kissed their parents ; all left their places ; 
 kisses and handshakings without number were 
 exchanged, and finally every one returned to 
 his seat. A short silence followed, while all 
 the company looked at each other with smiles
 
 12 DOSfA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 of content. The servants took the opportunity 
 to remove the knives and forks, and replace the 
 chafing-dishes by a well-ordered dessert. 
 
 It was a handsome table, superbly arranged ; 
 everything on it gave proof of a tasteful and 
 long-established luxury ; there were no fragile, 
 fanciful things, but massive silverware and thick 
 Bohemian glass, though from the ceiling was 
 suspended a wreath of globes from which hung 
 bunches of leaves and flowers, that swayed to 
 and fro above the table; the traditional lamp 
 was replaced by a chandelier full of candles, 
 and it all had a peculiarly aerial air, quite in- 
 dividual, and of a character not to be found 
 elsewhere. 
 
 " You are looking at our ceiling," said Platon 
 Sourof to his brother-in-law Pierre. " It is an 
 idea of Dosia's." 
 
 " A good idea ; but one must be in one's own 
 house in order to execute it. My landlord at 
 Petersburg would make a great to-do if I 
 pleased myself by making a dozen holes like
 
 TWENTY YEARS OF MARRIEJ) LIFE. 13 
 
 that in his stucco ceiling ! But it is very 
 pretty." 
 
 "Dosia has only good ideas," added Madame 
 Mourief, smiling at her sister-in-law. 
 
 "You did not say the same of me when I 
 was a young girl ! " exclaimed Madame Sourof, 
 laughing. " I don't believe there ever was a 
 girl on earth more scolded than I ! " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " said a sulky voice at the other 
 extremity of the table ; " I am ! " 
 
 A general laugh resounded so gayly that the 
 ivy wreaths began to dance above the guests, 
 and the complainer could not help laughing 
 too. 
 
 "You, Ania?" said Uncle Pierre, putting 
 his eye-glass to his eye, in order to look at his 
 niece, who lowered her eyes with a vexed air, 
 in spite of an involuntary movement which still 
 raised the corner of her mouth. " Why, you ! 
 You were born to be scolded ! " 
 
 " I perceive it," replied Agnes. 
 
 She was crimson, and ready to get angry;
 
 14 DOSIA' S DAUGHTER. 
 
 but, raising her eyes, she met her Aunt Sophie 
 Mouriefs glance, and her ill-humor vanished 
 at once. Aunt Sophie had a way of smiling at 
 you so sweetly that it went to your heart, what- 
 ever might be the matter with you. Agnes 
 held out against her mother sometimes, but 
 never against her Aunt Sophie. 
 
 " She is a second Dosia," said General Bara- 
 nine, laughing. 
 
 " General ! " exclaimed Madame Sourof. " I 
 think you are wanting in respect towards me." 
 
 Laughter ran again around the table. 
 
 " It is not my fault," continued the old 
 friend of the family, " if your originalities have 
 illustrated the name; you bear, my dear, the 
 burden of glory." 
 
 " Oh ! " sighed Dosia, " it is so long since 
 I was young." 
 
 Here the shouts of laughter were so loud 
 that, for some time, no one could hear any- 
 thing else. Agnes alone did not laugh. 
 
 " I do not understand," thought she, " why
 
 TWENTY YEARS OF MARRIED LIFE. 15 
 
 they find so droll in mamma the same things 
 which they blame in me ! " 
 
 But she remained silent. 
 
 Dosia's face, indeed, contradicted her words 
 in a most striking manner. It was easy to see 
 that twenty years ago she had been extremely 
 pretty. The passing years had somewhat 
 altered her former childlike charms, but she 
 was beautiful now; her complexion had re- 
 tained the pearl-like freshness of youth, and 
 her eyes shone as brightly as ever. 
 
 " Dosia," said Pierre Mourief, " it is twenty 
 years ago to-day since you married my good 
 friend Platon; do you remember the year 
 before?" 
 
 " I should think so," answered Madame Sou- 
 rof, blushing slightly. 
 
 " Do you know that it was exactly a year 
 before the same date that we ran away 
 together?" 
 
 " Carrying with you, for all your luggage, 
 two oranges and a jar of sweetmeats, tied up
 
 1 6 DOSIA' S DAUGHTER. 
 
 in a handkerchief," added Platon, with a sat- 
 isfied air. 
 
 "A year? day for day? No, I did not 
 know it. I didn't make a note of it," replied 
 Dosia, with a disdainful manner. 
 
 " That, Pierre, is for you," said the good 
 Sophie, complacently. 
 
 " Yes, my dear wife, that is a hard blow to 
 my vanity. But tell me, Dosia, if I had not 
 brought you back that day, what would have 
 happened?" 
 
 Madame Sourof's eyes sparkled so that it 
 seemed to her friends that they saw her again 
 just as she was twenty years before. 
 
 " What would have happened, my dear 
 brother? " she replied with vivacity; " ask your 
 right cheek, for I think the slap you received 
 that day was on your left one." 
 
 At this her guests burst out laughing to- 
 gether, including Agnes. She was not sorry to 
 know that her Uncle Pierre, who was always 
 teasing her, had received a slap on the face one
 
 TWENTY YEARS OF MARRIED LIFE. I/ 
 
 fine morning from her mamma, who was always 
 scolding. 
 
 " A slap, Uncle Pierre?" said she, when calm 
 was restored. 
 
 " Yes, my niece." 
 
 "Pierre!" murmured Dosia; "before the 
 children, I think that" . . . 
 
 Madame Mourief glanced at her sister-in-law 
 with her tranquil look. 
 
 " I think," she said, " it is far better that 
 children should not have any cause to suspect 
 mysteries in the lives of their parents." 
 
 Dosia acquiesced with a sign of her head, as 
 did also her husband. 
 
 Pierre, who had followed this conversation 
 without seeming to take notice of it, turned 
 towards his young niece, ready to receive her 
 attacks. 
 
 " Tell me, uncle, did the slap hurt you? " 
 
 " My niece, look at your mother's pretty 
 little hands, and answer the question yourself." 
 
 Agnes looked at her own hands and shook
 
 1 8 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 her head. She knew by experience that a slap 
 from those slim fingers had more than once 
 drawn a groan from her big brother, a few 
 years before. 
 
 "And, uncle, will you have the kindness to 
 tell me what effect it had upon you ? " she re- 
 plied. 
 
 "Ania!" said her brother, in a low tone of 
 reproach. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders, which was her 
 usual way of replying to observations. 
 
 "The effect?" said Pierre; "well, it was 
 rather curious, and very pleasant. The result 
 was this : I married your Aunt Sophie, and 
 your mother married my friend Platon." 
 
 Ania looked at her parents in turn with a 
 perplexed and somewhat incredulous air. 
 
 " I will tell you about it," said Sophie Mou- 
 rief to her niece. " Nothing is so simple, you 
 will see." 
 
 " What your aunt could not tell you, my 
 dear," added Dosia, " is of the extraordinary
 
 TWENTY YEARS OF MARRIED LIFE. 19 
 
 kindness she has shown to me, and the deep 
 affection which her brother, your father, my 
 child, deserved and has won. . . . There is 
 no one in the world better than your father, 
 except it may be his sister." 
 
 Tears, which she discreetly held back, gave 
 to Dosia's eyes all their juvenile brilliancy, 
 while she rose from the table, giving the signal 
 to disperse. Platon joined his wife and kissed 
 her hand fervently. He had loved her deeply, 
 with her faults, as a girl ; and now, when she had 
 become a wife and mother, full of estimable 
 qualities, he loved her still better, and more 
 and more every day. Their love, like every 
 deep and sincere affection, was destined to 
 grow till the end of their lives. 
 
 Aunt Sophie laid her hand on Agnes's 
 shoulder and led her gently towards a corner 
 of the drawing-room, which was shut off from 
 intruders by a sort of carved wooden screen, 
 ornamented with trailing plants. They both 
 sat down on a small sofa, while the other guests
 
 20 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 grouped themselves in the large, brilliantly 
 lighted room. 
 
 "Do you remember your grandmother?" 
 asked Sophie. 
 
 " Mamma's mother? Yes, I remember her. 
 She was always out of spirits." 
 
 " She is dead," said Madame Mourief, 
 gently. " Well, her character did not at 
 all enable her to understand your moth- 
 er's " 
 
 " I should think so ! mamma so gay, and 
 brilliant, and funny and grandmother so tire- 
 some ! " 
 
 *' Let us not speak of her, since she no 
 longer lives," insisted Sophie. " But you can 
 understand, can you not? Your mother could 
 not be very happy with her." 
 
 A very significant nod of the head showed 
 that Agnes understood perfectl}'. 
 
 "Well, one day more unlucky than others, 
 your mother was so vexed that she could not 
 bear it."
 
 TWENTY YEARS OF MARRIED LIFE. 21 
 
 "What had she done?" asked Agnes, curi- 
 ously. 
 
 An impulse to laugh showed itself in 
 Sophie's face, but she restrained herself and 
 remained serious. 
 
 "There was a story about a dog, if I 
 remember well, but that has no impor- 
 tance " 
 
 " O aunt ! pray tell me about it ! " 
 
 " I don't remember it very distinctly. How- 
 ever, it seems to me that Dosia had installed 
 in her bed an enormous dog, with a morning- 
 jacket and a night-cap on." 
 
 " Oh ! I know. Sultan ! " 
 
 " Exactly. One of your aunts was sleep- 
 ing in the same room. She took fright and 
 screamed " 
 
 " My horrid aunts ! I am delighted. I 
 would like to know which of them it was. 
 But I hate them all, one as much as the other," 
 said the young girl, laughing till she rolled on 
 the sofa.
 
 22 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Dosia was scolded, and the dog was 
 beaten " 
 
 " Poor, dear thing ! " 
 
 " My husband, who was then only your 
 mother's cousin, happened to be there. Dosia 
 wanted to leave her mother's house, and did, in 
 fact, leave with him ; but she had not gone a 
 verst before she realized how foolish she had 
 been. Pierre was not pleased. He received 
 the memorable slap of which they were talking 
 just now, and he took your mother back to her 
 home." 
 
 " And, of course, she was scolded still more 
 than before?" 
 
 " You must confess that she deserved it." 
 
 " That depends," replied Agnes, with a know- 
 ing air. "And then? " 
 
 " Then, a little while after, my brother met 
 Dosia; he had heard Pierre speak of her. 
 They were friends; we all made each other's 
 acquaintance, and it ended by our two mar- 
 riaees."
 
 TWENTY YEARS OF MARRIED LIFE. 2$ 
 
 Agnes remained in deep meditation. 
 
 " Of what are you thinking? " asked her aunt. 
 
 " I am thinking that, if I had left the house 
 like that, I would not have gone back to it in 
 a quarter of an hour." 
 
 " You would have done wrong," replied 
 Sophie, in her kind, commanding way. " But 
 your mother, capricious as she was at that 
 time, was really unhappy on account of her 
 sisters. You are the very happiest of young 
 girls ; there is, therefore, no analogy whatever 
 between the two situations." 
 
 " You are an excellent, dear aunt," replied 
 Agnes, kissing Madame Mourief. 
 
 A few moments after, she joined her brother, 
 who had sought refuge in a corner, with two 
 or three young people, his youngest sister and 
 his friend Ermile Drakof. They were very 
 merry in the little group, where they made a 
 place for Agnes. 
 
 Ermile was a tall fellow, somewhat heavy, 
 and with broad shoulders, which had already
 
 24 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 caught a slight bend from a habit of leaning 
 over his books, although he was scarcely 
 twenty-five years old. One could see from 
 his appearance that he was simple-hearted, of 
 
 an upright character, and an enemy to all 
 
 i 
 deceit. His clothes, which were very neat, 
 
 bore that individual stamp peculiar to men 
 who care for their toilet as a duty only, and 
 not as a pleasure. There was nothing striking 
 about him, and one could have met him fre- 
 quently without remarking him ; but once 
 having noticed him one could not fail to be 
 attracted, and, having once conversed with 
 him for an hour, to be desirous of becoming 
 his friend. 
 
 " Are you not going to give us a little music, 
 Miss Agnes? " said he. 
 
 Agnes at first looked a refusal, and then 
 relented ; for, in truth, she was very fond of 
 playing. 
 
 " I am willing," she replied, " only you must 
 play with me."
 
 TWENTY YEARS OF MARRIED LIFE. 2$ 
 
 " I shall be only too happy," murmured 
 Ermile, and he hurried to open the piano. 
 
 They both played very well : Agnes with 
 more caprice and brio; he with faultless surety 
 and excellent taste. Separately they would 
 certainly not have obtained such satisfactory 
 results as when playing together, for they cor- 
 rected each other's faults, and their good quali- 
 ties appeared to better advantage from contrast. 
 
 The company listened but inattentively, and 
 the general conversation followed its course ; 
 it mattered little to them, however, for they 
 loved music enough for itself to find pleasure 
 in playing without preoccupying themselves 
 about applause. 
 
 " How well they play together," said Pierre 
 Mourief. Platon looked at his charming 
 daughter with a paternal pride that was very 
 justifiable. 
 
 "She is a good musician," said he; "she 
 can do whatever she wishes to do. What a 
 pity that she is so hard to manage ! "
 
 26 DOSfA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " She belongs to the family," said Pierre. 
 
 He loved his sister-in-law very sincerely; 
 but from their perpetual quarrels and makings- 
 up, in the days of their childhood and youth, 
 they had retained an inveterate habit of teas- 
 ing each other. 
 
 "Yes," replied Dosia; "but I was not so 
 rough " 
 
 " Oh ! " said Pierre, touching his cheek 
 in so droll a way that they all three 
 smiled. 
 
 " I mean," continued Madame Sourof, " that 
 I did not have that somewhat rude firmness 
 which I regret to see in my daughter." 
 
 " That," interrupted Pierre, " is one of her 
 father's virtues, which has been slightly modi- 
 fied by transmission." 
 
 " You can laugh at me," said Platon ; " you 
 know it will not make me angry; but it is 
 nevertheless true that at times Agnes evinces 
 something ascetic, so to speak, which makes 
 me anxious for her future."
 
 TWENTY YEARS OF MARRIED LIFE. 2"J 
 
 "Wait a bit, till she wants to marry, and 
 then you will see ! " 
 
 " Precisely. I see her just as severe to her- 
 self as she is to others, and I don't know what 
 will come of it. Kola was made in another 
 mould." 
 
 "Oh! Kola, he is perfection," said Dosia, 
 throwing complacently a mother's glance' upon 
 her son, who was occupied at the time in ex- 
 plaining to the children the complicated mech- 
 anism of a toy. " He is good, he is patient, 
 he is well-behaved. He is the picture of his 
 father ! " 
 
 " A hit ! " said Platon, laughing. " Well, 
 Agnes is not the picture of her mother, and 
 it is really a pity." 
 
 " I used to be very terrible, though," replied 
 Dosia; " I even think, were it necessary,! could 
 be so again. The old Adam is not yet dead in 
 me!" 
 
 " Mamma, aunt, will you let us dance? " cried 
 the children and young people, all in one
 
 28 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 breath, running towards the mistress of the 
 house. 
 
 " As much as you please," replied Dosia. 
 Ermile and Agnes had just struck the final 
 chord. The young girl left the piano with a 
 sulky air. She did not like dancing. The 
 young man, seeing what they all desired, turned 
 round on the piano-stool, which he had not left, 
 and began one of Strauss's most brilliant waltzes. 
 Immediately all the company, with the excep- 
 tion of some venerable personages seated round 
 the whist-tables, commenced dancing in the 
 lofty, cool drawing-room, where the breeze of 
 a soft summer night came through the open 
 windows. 
 
 Mademoiselle Titof, who had educated the 
 girls, came and sat by Agnes, who was not 
 dancing. " Wouldn't you like to dance?" said 
 she. " See how gay they all are ! Your 
 mother does not look twenty years old to- 
 night." 
 
 " And I feel as if I were sixty," replied
 
 TWENTY YEARS OF MARRIED LIFE. 29 
 
 Agnes, in a curt tone. " It disgusts me to see 
 people act so youthful when they have not a 
 hair on their heads ! I don't say that for mamma, 
 nor for my father, or Aunt and Uncle Mourief." 
 She hastened to add : " They are good-natured 
 and jolly, and I am glad of everything that 
 gives them pleasure." 
 
 " You don't look so ! " said her brother as he 
 passed her, waltzing with Ermile's sister. 
 
 Agnes did not deign to reply. 
 
 " What disgusts me is to see grave people, 
 like General Baranine, who ought to know 
 better Well, it seems the world is happy 
 so." 
 
 "Miss Agnes, will you give me a turn?" 
 asked Ermile, bowing before her. An old lady 
 had taken his place at the piano. 
 
 She looked at him with a displeased air, but 
 his face was so kind, and he seemed so dis- 
 posed not to dance again that evening if she 
 exacted it, that she rose slowly and let herself 
 be carried off in the whirl. They had not gone
 
 30 DO SI A 'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 half- way round the room when she perceived 
 a little boy and girl, about twelve years old, 
 who were obstinately turning round in a cor- 
 ner, with a helpless air, being unable to get 
 outside a rampart some chairs made about 
 them. 
 
 She at once left her partner, seized the small 
 boy, and threw the little girl into Ermile's 
 arms, saying to him : 
 
 " Let us make two people happy ! " 
 
 In less than a second after she was whirling 
 madly at the other end of the drawing-room. 
 A French window, opening on the balcony 
 that went round the house, being close at hand, 
 Agnes cried out : 
 
 " Let us go outside ; let us go out in the 
 moonlight ! " 
 
 Her voice, as clear as the sound of a bell, 
 rang to the very end of the room ; all the 
 dancers ran down the five or six steps that led 
 to the gravelled garden, and without losing 
 time began to waltz in good order.
 
 TWENTY YEARS OF MARRIED LIFE. 3 I 
 
 " A polonaise ! " cried Pierre Mourief, in a 
 loud voice, " and let us lead the dance gayly ! " 
 
 Mademoiselle Titof heard him. The old lady 
 gave up her place to her, and a brilliant 
 polonaise, played so as to make the very trees 
 dance, resounded in the large, empty, and 
 splendidly illuminated drawing-room. The 
 imperturbable whist-players did not even per- 
 ceive the change. Pierre had taken his sister- 
 in-law's hand, and led her with a solemn air 
 to the head of the column of dancers. Couple 
 after couple ranged themselves in line, and, 
 marking the time, they made the round of the 
 house. The flower-beds, lit up by the first 
 rays of the full moon, embalmed the air. 
 
 They had begun by laughing, and then a 
 certain gravity spread over the merry com- 
 pany. The penetrating odors of heliotrope and 
 mignonette, the calm beauty of the landscape 
 bathed in a soft, transparent mist, which the 
 moon penetrated with a milky light, and a 
 certain indescribable melancholy inspired by
 
 32 DOSSA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 the night, awoke some poetic feeling in the 
 most prosaic minds. 
 
 " What a night, Dosia ! " said Pierre, as he 
 led the column. " What a pity we are no 
 longer young! " 
 
 "We live our own youth again in our 
 children," replied his sister-in-law, with a touch 
 of sadness. 
 
 " Yes, but it is not ourselves ! Do they even 
 know how to be young? We were really so. 
 Bah ! we are so still," continued he. " Fie 
 upon sadness ! Change ladies ! " cried he, 
 in a strong voice, and clapped his hands to- 
 gether. 
 
 An indescribable confusion followed amid 
 shouts of laughter, except from the first two 
 or three ladies in the column, who were 
 obliged to recede, while Pierre tan and took 
 Agnes from the end of the line. Every one 
 found a partner at last, but Mademoiselle 
 Titof had unfortunately changed the tune 
 and had begun to play a galop. The time
 
 TWENTY YEARS OF MARRIED LIFE. 33 
 
 was soon seized by the dancers, and all the 
 company reentered the drawing-room, rushing 
 wildly. 
 
 Pierre threw himself on a sofa and gave vent 
 to a loud " Phew ! " 
 
 The piano stopped, and the room was sud- 
 denly filled with noise and laughter. 
 
 "Well, Ania, are you enjoying yourself?" 
 said Platon, seizing his daughter by one of 
 the braids of her hair. 
 
 The face which was turned towards him was 
 certainly not that of one who felt bored. 
 
 " Be happy, my darling," said the father, 
 kissing his daughter's brow. " May this day 
 be without a cloud for you, my children, as it 
 is for us ! " 
 
 Agnes returned his caress, ran away and 
 sat down at the piano ; for the young people 
 clamored for more dancing. 
 
 Ermile Drakof had withdrawn into a com- 
 paratively obscure corner, whence he looked 
 at Agnes without being seen. The thought
 
 34 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 that she could not distinguish the expression 
 of his face gave him confidence, and he no 
 longer constrained himself to appear conven- 
 tionally friendly. 
 
 If she had known all the tenderness that this 
 young and upright heart contained for her ! If 
 she could have discerned how much resolution, 
 courage, and dauntless stoicism was hidden 
 behind the smiling, almost silly air of the tall 
 and rather heavy young man ! But he would 
 have been ashamed to have shown himself to 
 her as he really was. She had told him so 
 many times that one should know, how to com- 
 mand one's feelings, and that one was only a 
 man when self-possessed ; and he feared so to 
 displease her. 
 
 Agnes was just eighteen. Ermile had known 
 her from her childhood. The six years of dif- 
 ference between Nicolas Sourof's age and his 
 own had not interfered with their friendship; 
 but would he have been as fond of a boy who 
 was only a child, while he was finishing his
 
 TWENTY YEARS OF MARRIED LIFE. 35 
 
 studies at the university, if Kola had not been 
 brother to the disdainful Agnes? 
 
 He loved this house where the Sourofs 
 lived six months of the year. He also loved 
 their house at Petersburg; but the real nest, 
 the refuge, the home, was the country-seat of 
 Sourova, where a thousand memories of child- 
 hood united his life with those of his kind 
 neighbors. Ermile's father was a quiet old 
 man, who went out very little, and went to 
 sleep regularly after dinner in an arm-chair in 
 the smoking-room. Married late in life, and 
 a widower after a few years, he passionately 
 loved his daughter Marie and his son Ermile. 
 Marie, the elder, was an excellent girl, twenty- 
 eight years old. Plain, and a good house- 
 keeper, expert and active, she had long since 
 given up all thought of marriage, and lived 
 very happy without it. " No one can ever 
 know," she was wont to say, " how easy it 
 makes life ! " 
 
 While Ermile was gazing at Agnes, whose
 
 36 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 lovely face had become rosy from the move- 
 ment of her agile hands, Marie came near and 
 leaned her chin on the shoulder of her brother, 
 whom she adored. She had been almost a 
 mother to him from the time he was left an 
 orphan in his cradle ; and, in spite of the years 
 passed since then, she could not help always 
 treating him somewhat like a baby. 
 
 " Why don't you dance? " she asked him. 
 
 " I am resting," replied he, hastening to fix 
 his eyes on another object. 
 
 What he most dreaded of all things was to 
 have Marie guess his secret. 
 
 " Look at Agnes ! Is she not pretty when 
 rosy like that? One can find no fault with her 
 except that she is ordinarily a little too pale ; 
 to-night she is adorable." 
 
 " She is tiring herself, I am going to take 
 her away," said Ermile, hastening towards the 
 piano. 
 
 Marie saw him lean over Agnes to speak to 
 her, but without daring to look at her. She
 
 TWENTY YEARS OF MARRIED LIFE. 37 
 
 made a sign, and rose, still playing. The 
 young man took -her seat and continued the 
 dance she had begun. He kept the measure 
 so well that no one noticed the substitution. 
 
 " How we understand each other ! " said 
 Agnes, smiling. 
 
 " Like a pair of thieves," replied Ermile, 
 whose heart beat with joy at that friendly 
 " we." 
 
 He was indefatigable that evening; waltz 
 following polka, quadrille after quadrille. He 
 sat at the piano without growing tired. The 
 children had gone to bed, their eyes full of 
 sleep and regret at not being able to keep 
 open any longer; their parents talked, seated 
 in happy groups. Not one of the fifty guests 
 who had dined that day with Dosia felt within 
 the sting of discontent. This happy house was 
 one of sunshine, where reigned the sweetness 
 of a constant and luminous peace. 
 
 When the burnt-out candles made their glass 
 supporters crack, the players of whist or of
 
 38 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 preference at last rose. To them, too, the even- 
 ing had been a pleasant and happy one. 
 They were good people who had known each 
 other for many years, and liked to play to- 
 gether. More than one of them would have 
 found life joyless if the same round of visits 
 had not allowed him to meet every day of the 
 week the same friends whom he had been 
 accustomed to see for forty years. From time 
 to time death gathered a member from the 
 circle, but kind Providence aged together those 
 who, young at first, had gradually given up 
 dancing, and acquired a taste for cards, so that 
 the card-tables were still well crowded. 
 
 Dosia's house contained a large number of 
 guest chambers, and they were all occupied 
 that night. They had made beds for the young 
 men even in the out-houses, in rooms where 
 provisions were ordinarily kept, and which 
 retained a pleasant smell of fruit or grain. 
 
 Other guests, who were nearer neighbors, 
 had come with their equipages, and their
 
 TWENTY YEARS OF MARRIED LIFE, 39 
 
 departure presented an interesting sight. A 
 dozen four-horse carriages, for the most part 
 open, came in turn to the front door, ready for 
 the travellers; they left one by one, and the 
 noise of the bells on the harnesses gradually 
 grew less. When the last one had quitted the 
 court the servants extinguished the torches 
 that had lighted the departure; all sought 
 their beds, and the moon shed floods of 
 serene light over the silent house, over the 
 perfumed garden, and over the fertile country 
 of Sourova.
 
 40 DOSM'S DAUGHTER, 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 CONFESSIONS. 
 
 IT is said that fte-days make sad to-morrows. 
 This is true sometimes ; above all, when 
 in the gayeties of the evening there has been 
 something of license. But rejoicings like those 
 which marked the twentieth anniversary of 
 the marriage of Monsieur and Madame Sourof 
 leave behind them no regrets. 
 
 One rises late, however. The children may 
 chatter at dawn with the birds in the garden 
 and park, but those who have danced until two 
 o'clock in the morning have no wish to see the 
 sun rise. They enter, one after the other, the 
 great dining-room, where the crystal bowls, 
 full of foaming milk, the old utensils of silver 
 repousst, and the little rolls, smoking and 
 golden, make for them the most cheering 
 sight.
 
 CONFESSIONS. 41 
 
 Ermile and his sister arose first. Marie was 
 seated at the table, where for two hours 
 already she had poured tea and coffee, and 
 served each new-comer with inexhaustible com- 
 placency. She had not her equal for remain- 
 ing half a day before a samovar, refilled from 
 time to time by the attentive servants, and 
 giving a kindly word with each cup. No won- 
 der that Madame Sourof scarcely knew how 
 to do without her when she entertained her 
 guests. 
 
 Agnes entered, a quiet expression on her 
 face, her eyes beaming. She inherited from 
 her mother a wonderful vitality; but, instead 
 of showing it on the surface, and spending it in 
 those fancies which made Dosia, when young, 
 the heroine of many a tale, she carefully re- 
 served it in concealment, like a smothered 
 fire. Throwing back the braids of blonde hair, 
 which fell on her breast at every motion, she 
 seated herself comfortably near Marie, .and, 
 pouring out a cup of milk, she rested her
 
 42 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 arms on the table and her chin upon her 
 arms, looking about her. 
 
 "Are your breakfasts like this?" asked 
 Marie, taking from her pocket a ball of white 
 wool and an ivory crochet-needle. She was 
 always making afghans, and her father declared 
 that she had already finished three dozen. 
 
 Agnes regarded her cup of milk with in- 
 difference. " I have seen my bears just now ; 
 they eat with such appetites that it has satiated 
 me." 
 
 " Your bears ! Have you bears now? " 
 
 " Yes, I have two. They are very pretty. 
 I will show them to you. They are not in 
 the house." 
 
 " I fancy they are not in the sheepfold, 
 either!" 
 
 " No. They are near the greenhouse ; they 
 were given to me last spring, when they were 
 very small. Just imagine, when mamma and I 
 came here last April, at a post-station, while 
 we were changing horses, a peasant came up
 
 CONFESSIONS. 43 
 
 carrying something in his cloak. 'Are they 
 dogs?' said mamma. You know she cannot 
 see a dog without a palpitation of the heart. 
 
 " ' No,' replied the peasant ; ' they are little 
 bears.' 
 
 " ' So little ! Show them to us,' said mamma, 
 and the man placed them on the ground. 
 
 " O Marie, you cannot imagine what dears 
 they were ! They were three weeks old, and as 
 large as a Newfoundland dog of three months ; 
 and they had such pretty little ways ! I sat 
 down on the ground to play with them ; they 
 laid down on the train of my dress, and when I 
 got up I drew them along on it. They did not 
 wish to leave me. Their mother had been 
 killed the day before. We gave them some 
 milk, and they drank it like kittens, putting 
 their lovely little noses and their paws into the 
 bowl naturally, and when they had finished it 
 they sat down to lick their paws. Then they 
 ran after me about the room. And so mamma 
 bought them and gave me one ; the other
 
 44 DOS/A' S DAUGHTER. 
 
 belongs to Vera, but she does not care for 
 it." 
 
 " But what are you going to do with them? " 
 asked Marie. " You can't undertake to break 
 them to harness." 
 
 " We will eat them," said Kola, who entered 
 at that moment. 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Agnes, " eat my bears ? " 
 
 " That's all a bear is good for, unless you 
 teach him to dance." 
 
 Agnes maintained a dignified silence, and 
 Kola asked the obliging Marie for a cup 
 of coffee. At this moment Ermile made his 
 appearance, and received only a cool " good- 
 morning " from his idol. Without appearing 
 to notice it he sat down and began to talk with 
 his friend. 
 
 " Did you see Mademoiselle Borikof yester- 
 day? " said Marie, in a low tone. 
 
 " Yes, I saw her, as she was there," replied 
 Agnes, coldly; "what is there remarkable 
 about her? "
 
 CONFESSIONS. 45 
 
 " Why, her lover is so long in declaring him- 
 self that she is likely to become ill." 
 
 " That's making a great fuss for a man with 
 yellow hair," said Agnes, pouting. 
 
 " Yellow or not, if she loves him ! " 
 
 " If she loves him it is a proof that her mind 
 is inferior ; and another proof of it is that she 
 wears green ribbons, which are horribly unbe- 
 coming to her." 
 
 " The poor girl ! I heard him say that he 
 admired green ribbons. They make him think 
 of the green leaves, and thus recall summer to 
 him." 
 
 " Then she ought only to wear them in 
 winter," said Agnes. 
 
 " O my child," sighed Marie, " you do not 
 know to what extremes the desire to please 
 may lead one. I understand it." 
 
 Nicolas burst out laughing. The idea that 
 this good, simple Marie should have personal 
 knowledge of the desire to please seemed to 
 him absolutely comical.
 
 46 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " It is true," she affirmed, " I have wished to 
 please; it wasn't a success, but then it only 
 happened once." 
 
 " O Marie, tell me about it," said Agnes, 
 her eyes sparkling with malicious fun. 
 
 " Yes. my children, I will tell you, so that it 
 may be a lesson to you. Come here, Vera," 
 added she, as the child passed ; " and you, too, 
 my little friends, and you, Mademoiselle Titof ; 
 all you young ladies, listen to what may hap- 
 pen when one wishes to charm a young man 
 by outward attractions." 
 
 The little company listened, open-mouthed. 
 Marie looked about her with an air of satis- 
 faction. " I was fifteen years old," said she. 
 "Ermile, you must remember it." 
 
 He nodded his head affirmatively, and the 
 thought of her adventure brought a passing 
 smile to his face. 
 
 " I was fifteen," repeated Marie, " and I was 
 still more ugly than I am now" 
 
 " O Marie ! " exclaimed Vera, who adored
 
 CONFESSION'S. 47 
 
 her, and thought her more beautiful than a 
 Madonna by Raphael. 
 
 "Yes, my child, it is as I tell you. I had 
 an uncle who was interested in agriculture. 
 He is dead, the poor, dear man ! God keep 
 his soul ! He ruined himself buying those 
 English ploughs, that never would plough Rus- 
 sian soil. He came to our house, I don't know 
 why. Perhaps he came to persuade my father 
 to buy those English ploughs also, and he 
 happened to bring with him his engineer. I 
 had never seen an engineer, but it sounded 
 well, and I said to myself, ' This engineer must 
 have the impression that I am a charming 
 person.' So the next day it was in summer 
 I put on a lovely white dress." 
 
 " Well, that was natural enough," said Vera, 
 looking at her dress, which was white. 
 
 " Just wait, my foolish little girl ! After tea 
 in the morning, we went out. My father, 
 who did not like to walk, bade me take my 
 uncle and the engineer to the tool-house, which
 
 48 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 was at some distance from the house. As we 
 walked along I explained this, and showed 
 that, and made many foolish remarks. I don't 
 remember what they were, but they were 
 foolish, and there were a great many of them, 
 I am sure of that. At length we crossed a 
 stream, broad enough, but not deep, with a 
 slight current, a kind of pond ; the bridge 
 was narrow, made of one or two planks. 
 
 '"Oh, what a lovely color !' said the engi- 
 neer, looking at the stagnant water. Really 
 it had a wonderful green. As he was about 
 to pass over he drew back to let me go 
 first. 
 
 " ' Now is the time/ said I to myself, ' to 
 display all my perfections. He must think to 
 himself she has a beautiful figure, and the 
 elegance of one of the Graces.' In fact, I 
 carried myself well, skipping with an aristo- 
 cratic air. But I stepped outside of the plank, 
 and fell into that water which had such a 
 beautiful green."
 
 CONFESSIONS. 49 
 
 " O Marie ! " exclaimed Vera, with an air 
 of consternation. 
 
 " Exactly so. I told you that I wore a 
 white dress, so when my uncle and the 
 engineer pulled me out of the water my dress 
 was green, but only to the knees, as the pond 
 was not deep. We had a half verst back to 
 the house. I walked, my friends. I do not 
 know whether the engineer remembered me, 
 but I did not forget him, I warrant you. Since 
 then I have given up trying to please. Now 
 go and play, my children, and remember 
 that modesty is the sweetest ornament of 
 beauty." 
 
 Marie ridiculed herself with such grace that 
 the least one could do was to join in her fun. 
 But Vera, who was very sensitive, kissed her 
 affectionately, as if to console her for her mis- 
 adventure. As the child went away Marie 
 said reflectively, " You might have had such an 
 experience; but Agnes, never." 
 
 " Oh, no," said Agnes, throwing her blonde
 
 5O DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 hair over her shoulder. "The opinion of others 
 I don't care much for it." 
 
 " That's plain enough," said Kola, with an 
 innocent air. 
 
 " Come now, Kola, don't tease her," said 
 Marie, who had carried Nicolas in her arms 
 when he was a baby, and from time to time 
 corrected him, as she did her own brother. 
 "You have all breakfasted; no one is hungry? 
 Well, I am not sorry." 
 
 She rang the bell, and, leaving the room to 
 the care of the servants, she seated herself on 
 the veranda with the everlasting ball of white 
 wool. The others went into the garden, each 
 one taking his own way. Agnes took the 
 path bordered by lindens. The summer's heat 
 had already tinged the leaves with pale gold. 
 It was her favorite walk, and she carried 
 there each day her good or bad humor, in 
 order to think over its causes and results. 
 
 She found Mademoiselle Titof there, who, 
 without precisely waiting for her pupil, ex-
 
 CONFESSIONS. 5 1 
 
 pected to meet her. At sight of her Agnes 
 frowned. 
 
 " I wish to speak to you, my dear," said the 
 governess. 
 
 "To scold me, you mean to say," replied 
 Agnes. 
 
 " No, only to talk with you." 
 
 With a sigh of resignation Agnes walked 
 beside Mademoiselle Titof in the shade of the 
 lindens, which the sun flecked with bits of 
 gold. 
 
 The governess was of about the same height 
 as her pupil, and resembled her a little; she 
 had not the same features, but the same form 
 of face and the same color of hair ; only that 
 Agnes was like a fresh flower, while the other, 
 wearied by her life, was already faded. There 
 was but six years of difference between their 
 ages, but the twenty-four of Mademoiselle 
 Titofs life had already brought many troubles, 
 while the eighteen of Agnes might be counted 
 as so many holidays if she had wished.
 
 52 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " I desire to speak to you, my dear," said the 
 governess, " because all sorts of ideas came into 
 my head last night. I don't know why ; per- 
 haps on account of the gayety which reigned in 
 the house yesterday, in which you alone did 
 not share." 
 
 " I was amused at the end," said Agnes, as if 
 in explanation. 
 
 " Yes, when you were at the piano, and had 
 made the others dance." 
 
 Agnes nodded her head gravely. " That 
 alone pleased me," said she ; " to be occupied 
 with one's self is to wrong others." 
 
 " Exactly ! But you occupy yourself with 
 others only when they are en masse; you do 
 not care enough for individuals. Do you know 
 that your mother was much vexed on your 
 account, yesterday?" 
 
 Agnes shrugged her shoulders impatiently. 
 She adored her mother, and could not 
 bear the idea of grieving her, but she 
 felt unable to correct her faults for the
 
 CONFESSIONS. 53 
 
 sake of pleasing her. How many are like 
 this! 
 
 " She suffers from your disposition, Agnes, 
 notwithstanding that you know what a mother, 
 what an excellent wife, she is. This has 
 decided me to talk seriously with you. You 
 know, my dear, that you have confidence in 
 me. We have known each other, and I have 
 loved you, for five years. Speak to me frankly. 
 You are not satisfied with your fate. What 
 do you desire? If it is possible to gratify 
 you I think I can promise that it shall be 
 done." 
 
 Agnes walked on slowly, her eyes fixed on 
 the spots of light which the sun cast through 
 the shade of the path. 
 
 " I wish," said she, in a low tone, but with 
 great decision, "to lead a useful life, not to 
 waste my youth and my powers in a fruitless 
 existence. I have had a fine education, and 
 I have profited by it, I may say that without 
 vanity, and here I am, at eighteen, good for
 
 54 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 nothing except to parade in a drawing-room. 
 You are astonished that I prefer to make others 
 dance before dancing myself. Useless as this 
 may be, it counts for something." 
 
 She ended with a sort of bitterness, but her 
 usual pride gave way to a genuine sadness. 
 
 " You are impatient, my child," said Mad- 
 emoiselle Titof. " If you knew how necessary 
 it is to wait in this life, and to make attempts 
 again and again which come to nothing. 
 Your education has fitted you to hold your 
 place in society." 
 
 " I do not like society." 
 
 " Then it has fitted you to be a learned 
 person, so that you may taste all the pleasures 
 of intellect and of art. When you are 
 married" 
 
 Agnes repressed a sign of impatience. 
 Mademoiselle Titof put her white, thin hand 
 on the girl's arm. " Do not say, ' I do not 
 wish to marry.' The part of a woman in this 
 life is to be a wife and a mother."
 
 CONFESSIONS. 55 
 
 "A wife," cried Agnes, "such a wife as 
 belongs to our world : to meet her husband 
 at the table ! A mother, to see her children 
 twice a day, at morning and evening, and to 
 scold them when their masters complain of 
 them. If that is to be my future, I should 
 prefer anything, even the cloister. One may 
 work there." 
 
 " Do you find such examples in your 
 family?" demanded Mademoiselle Titof. 
 
 " My family? One cannot find twice in a 
 century such a man as my father such a 
 woman as my Aunt Sophie. Do you think 
 that, without her my Uncle Pierre would be 
 the man that he is?" 
 
 Mademoiselle Titof was confounded by this 
 sagacity. It was perfectly true that Pierre 
 Mourief had been moulded and formed by the 
 hands of his wife, and, in spite of Agnes's 
 silence regarding her mother, it was not less 
 certain that, under a different influence from 
 that of Platon Sourof, Dosia would have been
 
 56 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 another person ; full of generous instincts, but 
 incapable of regulating her life wisely. 
 
 "Truly, few men are like your father," re- 
 plied Mademoiselle Titof; " but humanity is not 
 so poor in men of merit as you think. Around 
 us there are some who have great qualities, 
 and, indeed, one day or another, you may meet 
 one who will please you. We are not exacting 
 towards those whom we love." 
 
 She ended with a sigh. Perhaps she knew 
 by some sad experience how indulgent we can 
 be to the faults of a loved one. 
 
 " Tell me," said Agnes, suddenly, " how 
 came you to be a governess?" 
 
 Mademoiselle Titof blushed, and for a 
 moment her blush restored to her the charm 
 of her vanished youth. 
 
 " I had taken my diploma from the Institute 
 for noble young ladies in Kazan," said she, 
 " and had won some brilliant honors. I was 
 about to marry when my father died, leaving 
 his affairs very much embarrassed. We were
 
 CONFESSIONS. 
 
 57 
 
 not rich before, and after this we were in 
 misery. I was the only support of my mother, 
 and my future husband proposed that I should 
 place her in an asylum for the aged. An 
 asylum for my dear mamma ! Since she was 
 a widow she needed more than ever my care 
 and tenderness. I refused ; the marriage was 
 broken off, and I took a situation. I see my 
 mother in the winter only, but she has two 
 pretty rooms, and your mother's generosity 
 enables me to give her every desirable com- 
 fort." 
 
 Agnes fell on the neck of her governess with 
 such ardor that she was in danger of being 
 overthrown; they were laughing and weeping 
 at the same time ; she held her in this embrace 
 one moment, and then resumed their prome- 
 nade, giving Mademoiselle Titof her arm. 
 " And you say," cried Agnes, " that there are 
 men of heart ! " 
 
 " Precisely ; because I came near marrying 
 one who had but a very ordinary soul I have
 
 58 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 my eyes open to the merits of others. I am 
 too much afraid of becoming a misanthrope." 
 
 "You had enough to make you one," mur- 
 mured Agnes. " But tell me how one becomes 
 a governess, my friend." 
 
 " One receives a passport and seeks a place," 
 replied Mademoiselle Titof, smiling. 
 
 " Ah ! is a passport necessary? " 
 
 " Always, with us." 
 
 " And what do you do now with your pass- 
 port?" 
 
 " I keep it. When I travel I state at the 
 police office that I am going away, and when I 
 arrive elsewhere I inscribe my name as a new- 
 comer, that is all. So when I go to Moscow 
 next month, to visit my uncle, I shall comply 
 with the regulations as to my passport before I 
 go away." 
 
 " What a nuisance ! " exclaimed Agnes. 
 " All restraint is disagreeable, in fact; but this 
 is a little thing, a mere formality." 
 
 Agnes listened no longer. Her vivid imagi-
 
 CONFESSIONS. 59 
 
 nation was entirely absorbed by thoughts of 
 the sufferings of Mademoiselle Titof. 
 
 " And I have never had the least idea of 
 that," cried she. " You are so quiet ; you 
 never speak of yourself." 
 
 The governess smiled sweetly. " You will 
 love me better now," said she. 
 
 " Ah ! I believe it. I shall adore you. 
 When I think how often I have been naughty 
 to you If I had known ! " 
 
 " It would be better always to act as if one 
 knew," said Mademoiselle Titof, with extreme 
 delicacy. " But I do not wish to preach you a 
 sermon, and it is time for Vera's music-lesson." 
 She moved towards the house, but Agnes 
 detained her. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said she, with beating 
 heart, " your humble pardon for my past 
 impertinences, and I assure you that I shall 
 atone for them." 
 
 " My dear child ! " exclaimed Mademoiselle 
 Titoff, kissing her. They pressed each other's
 
 60 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 hands, and the governess returned to the 
 house. 
 
 While fragments of the scales played on the 
 distant piano fell upon her inattentive ears 
 Agnes seated herself upon a bench and was 
 lost in thought. There are, then, some lives 
 without brightness, without joys, uniquely con- 
 secrated to others? Agnes knew this, but she 
 had always thought that some characteristic 
 sign distinguished these choice beings; some 
 particular appearance; an unusual exterior; in 
 short, a sort of aureole, visible, at least, to the 
 initiated. And now, behold, her governess, 
 she who for four years had taught her every- 
 thing, was a soldier of duty ! Who could 
 have imagined it? 
 
 Agnes's heart was stirred to its depths with 
 interest in unknown martyrs. It was one of 
 her hobbies, and she had passed many hours 
 in reflection upon these vague beings; but 
 this time her dream had form. While she 
 allowed her fancy to execute some new vari-
 
 CONFESSIONS. r 
 
 ations on this well-known theme an intruder 
 entered the linden path, and approached her 
 without being seen. When he was near her 
 she started suddenly and looked up. 
 
 " Ermile ! " said she ; " you almost frightened 
 me!" 
 
 " That was not what I wished," he an- 
 swered, smiling. " I thought I should find 
 you here, and have come at the risk of being 
 indiscreet. If you command it I will go 
 away." 
 
 "Why should you?" answered she, with a 
 shade of haughtiness. " We can talk as well 
 here as while dancing a german in a drawing- 
 room." She rose from her seat, saying, "We 
 can talk better while walking." 
 
 Ermile silently took his place at her side, 
 and they paced half the length of the alley 
 without exchanging a word. At length Agnes 
 broke the silence. 
 
 "Have you settled your plans?" asked she, 
 without looking at him.
 
 62 DOSSA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 He bowed his head before replying; then 
 said, in a serious voice, " I believe so." 
 
 " What have you decided ? " 
 
 " I wish to live in the country, and employ 
 my talents to civilize the people." 
 
 " That is well," said Agnes, with a move- 
 ment of the head full of proud satisfaction. 
 
 " My Uncle Varlamof has willed me his prop- 
 erty. Did you not know it? " 
 
 "No; and then? " 
 
 " It makes me rich, that is all ; and I can now 
 do what I could not do for a year past." 
 
 He ceased speaking, and as she said no more 
 he did not feel encouraged. After a silence he 
 went on : " You have advised me to do it." 
 
 " I should think so ! Are there not men 
 enough who spend their money at Petersburg 
 or Moscow? Do good to the peasants; im- 
 prove the land. Spend your fortune to educate 
 the former and to cultivate the latter. You 
 will be recompensed." 
 
 "By whom?"
 
 , CONFESSIONS. 63 
 
 " By those whom you have benefited. And 
 then, is not the approval of your own con- 
 science sufficient for you?" 
 
 Ermile looked much discomfited. Certainly 
 at this moment the approbation of his own 
 conscience did not suffice for him. 
 
 " My conscience oh, yes," said he, hesitat- 
 ing; "but I am twenty-five years old, my 
 studies are finished, and I believe that I shall 
 make a tolerable agriculturist. So much the 
 more that I have not too many false theories 
 in my head, at least I hope that those which 
 have charmed me are not false, and then, 
 theories are well enough ; I do not doubt 
 that, but it is necessary to prove them." 
 
 Agnes nodded her assent. He made a great 
 effort, and went on, in a trembling voice : 
 
 " Finally, Agnes, have you not seen that 
 which I have forced myself to conceal so 
 carefully? " 
 
 She had seen it certainly, but she could not 
 have been made to confess it for all the world.
 
 64 DO SI AS DAUGHTER. 
 
 " It is a long time now since I have said to 
 myself that I must speak to you, from fear " 
 
 His voice was lost in his throat. Agnes re- 
 mained impassive. The unhappy young man 
 made a new effort, and continued : 
 
 " From fear that another might speak to you 
 before me, and obtain that which I should 
 value as the greatest joy of which it is possible 
 to dream." 
 
 She turned towards him, her beautiful gray 
 eyes full of fire. 
 
 " I have understood it, Ermile," said she. 
 " Another young girl in my place would give 
 herself the pleasure of making you explain 
 yourself more fully, but these coquetries are 
 beneath me. You love me?" 
 
 He bowed his head, unable to speak. 
 
 " It is pardon me the words that I shall 
 say; I cannot find others, though I might wish 
 it it is unhappy for you and for me." 
 
 " Unhappy ! " exclaimed he, turning pale. 
 
 " Yes, I do not love you."
 
 CONFESSIONS. 65 
 
 " You will learn to love me ! " 
 
 " I shall not love you ! " 
 
 She spoke with the unconscious and fierce 
 cruelty of those whose hearts have not been 
 touched by love. She did not know the depth 
 of the wound which she made. How could she 
 understand it? Only those who have suffered 
 such pains -know what they cost. 
 
 " Oh ! " continued Ermile; " if you but knew 
 how much I love you ! " 
 
 " I am sorry for you," said she, calmly. 
 However, a secret joy filled Agnes's soul, 
 beneath her apparent coldness. The magic 
 word revealed to her some springs of emotion, 
 hitherto concealed ; she entered into a new life 
 through the triumphal gate of a love inspired, 
 if not felt. A little proud satisfaction, like that 
 of a queen who receives homage, entered this 
 young mind like a breath of madness. Ermile 
 continued to walk, looking straight before 
 him. 
 
 " I cannot love you," said Agnes. " I do
 
 66 DOSL4'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 not know if it is because I have always 
 known you ; but you can only be a brother 
 to me." 
 
 " And I I love you madly," cried the un- 
 happy man. 
 
 Agnes frowned. It was all very well to be 
 loved, and it was flattering enough to her ; but 
 if the discarded lover took it upon himself to 
 complain it would be very tiresome. Did he 
 not know how to accept his refusal with dig- 
 nity, as it had been pronounced? 
 
 " If it is thus," said she, " I see but one 
 course for me, to see you no more." 
 
 "That! Impossible!" said Ermile, in a de- 
 cisive tone. "Think of it! You love me only 
 as a brother, but I love you as the friend of all 
 my youth and more, as the woman with 
 whom I wish to live and die." 
 
 " Then it is better never to speak to me of 
 it, nor to allow me to see it." 
 
 He was silent. 
 
 " Come, Ermile," said Agnes, in her most
 
 CONFESSIONS. 67 
 
 persuasive voice, " be reasonable. I can do 
 nothing for you, and you can make my 
 existence most painful by keeping at my 
 side like a ghost of remorse. It is not my 
 fault if I do not love you." 
 
 Ermile did not feel sure of that, but he did 
 not reply. 
 
 " Moreover," continued Agnes, " if my father 
 and mother knew what you have said to me, 
 they would certainly beg of you, for your own 
 sake, to cease your visits to us, for a time at 
 least." 
 
 This was true, and Ermile felt himself 
 vanquished. 
 
 " It is necessary, then, for you to make a reso- 
 lution," continued the young stoic, " either to 
 see me no more, or else to promise me now 
 that you will never speak to me of this matter 
 again ; and that no action of yours shall ever 
 recall to me this conversation." 
 
 " I shall not be able to do that," said Ermile, 
 with a half-sad smile.
 
 68 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER.. 
 
 " I am speaking seriously," said Agnes, 
 severely, " and so I shall pray you not to see 
 me again until you have put this madness out 
 of your head." 
 
 She was really angry. Did he, then, dream 
 of resisting her? And in a matter of which 
 she was the mistress to give or to retain that 
 which he demanded? 
 
 Ermile stood there, confounded; he knew 
 that she was passionate, and liable to do some 
 rash thing which she would afterwards regret 
 with all her heart. He knew, too, that a word 
 from her would bring down upon him the 
 affectionate condolences of Agnes's relatives, 
 with the charitable advice to go away, to 
 travel in foreign lands; in short, to forget, or 
 feign to forget, this unwelcome love. 
 
 " Agnes," said he, humbly, " do not deny 
 me your presence." 
 
 " Let it be so," said she, with dignity. 
 " Then you must give me your word of honor 
 that you will never speak one word, or do one
 
 CONFESSIONS. 69 
 
 act, which can remind me that you love me. 
 Do you swear it? " 
 
 " I swear it," said Ermile. 
 
 "And if you should break your oath?" 
 
 " I should punish myself for it. You will 
 not need to reproach me." 
 
 "Very well," said she, "let us be friends." 
 And by the most natural of inconsequences 
 she offered him her hand. He took it, pressed 
 it as a friend might do, and released it with a 
 deep sigh. 
 
 The breakfast-bell, which rang at one o'clock, 
 recalled them to the house. They walked on 
 together, he silent and constrained ; she merry, 
 and almost joyful. She felt as if she had 
 wings; in fact, had she not conquered? Did 
 she not hold in her cruelly inexperienced hands 
 the most precious of toys, the rarest of jewels, 
 the heart of a man which she could hence- 
 forth torment and dissect, not for the sake of 
 wounding it, but merely to find out how it is 
 made?
 
 /O DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 He felt like a bird when seized by the hands 
 of a child, soft and rough at the same time. 
 He felt his heart beat in these untrained hands, 
 and asked himself if they would stifle it alto- 
 gether, or if he should ever succeed in flying 
 away. As for his oath an oath more 
 dangerous and more difficult to keep than he 
 could yet believe he did not regret that for 
 one moment. If he should be punished some 
 day for breaking it, he would at least enjoy the 
 time which would precede the fatal moment. 
 And then, if he could be near her, perhaps he 
 could win her love. Could it be possible that 
 she would not be moved by a tenderness so 
 true, so discreet, and so unselfish? 
 
 The guests of the house came from all 
 directions to the veranda, while awaiting the 
 sound of the second bell. Dosia watched her 
 daughter and her young friend. 
 
 " She has scolded him," said she, laughingly, 
 to her husband. "See how dispirited he is; 
 but she seems to be enchanted."
 
 CONFESSfONS. 7 1 
 
 Platon looked at the young man attentively, 
 but said nothing. He knew the expression 
 which the great struggles of life bring to the 
 face. As Ermile came near him the father 
 took him affectionately by the arm, and led 
 him to the dining-room, talking to him all the 
 while.
 
 72 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER, 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE FOREST BURNS. 
 
 "/^ENERAL," said Agnes, quietly, "your 
 
 ^-^ woods are burning." 
 
 General Baranine took his pipe from his 
 mouth, looked at the sky above him, tossed 
 his head with a knowing look, and replied, 
 " Not mine, my neighbor's." 
 
 Agnes looked at the general, and then at the 
 sky, from the rocking-chair where he was see- 
 sawing comfortably, and said nothing. She 
 bent over the number of an illustrated paper 
 in which she was examining the prints, shook 
 it a little, blew away some white specks which 
 had fallen upon it, and seemed to be interested 
 in the pictures. 
 
 This year, a drought, longer than any 
 other within the memory of the living, had 
 dried up the forests. During the past week
 
 THE FOREST BURNS. 73 
 
 fire had been raging in a great wood about 
 twenty versts distant from the home of the gen- 
 eral. In order to reach his house, the Sourof 
 family, who had been invited to spend the day 
 with him, were obliged to pass through a suf- 
 focating cloud of smoke, which the wind had 
 borne for some distance, and which hung over 
 the forest like a cloak of fog. In the grounds 
 of the general the smoke was less dense, but 
 was still enough so to resemble a thick and 
 yellowish mist. 
 
 The visitors talked of one thing and another, 
 the gentlemen smoked, the ladies talked of 
 the children who were playing in the garden. 
 Agnes waited a few moments and then repeated, 
 in a clear voice, " General, your woods are 
 burning;" and she shook over the general's 
 hand the bits of cinders which were scattered 
 over her newspaper. 
 
 " I know what that is," said Baranine, with- 
 out looking disturbed. " For the last week, 
 at five o'clock in the evening, when the wind
 
 74 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 changes to the west, we have a rain of 
 cinders. 1 ' 
 
 " Yes, general, but it is two o'clock, and the 
 wind is in the east. After all, it is not my 
 forest, and I speak only on your account." 
 
 Platon rose. " We ought to see to it all the 
 same/' said he. 
 
 Baranine was stubborn. He made a reas- 
 suring gesture. " Let it alone ! I am accus- 
 tomed to this since the fires broke out." 
 
 But, in spite of all, Monsieur Sourof was not 
 satisfied. He continued to scan the sky 
 and in a moment he started suddenly. 
 " There," said he, " behind you, general, the 
 forest is really burning. See that column of 
 smoke ! " 
 
 A gust of wind threw on the paper a handful 
 of gray cinders and black charcoal, still hot. 
 
 " It is, indeed, true that it burns," exclaimed 
 Baranine, pulling his cap down over his pol- 
 ished head. " I am a stubborn old brute, and 
 Agnes is right."
 
 THE FOREST BURNS. 75 
 
 He ran towards the servants' quarters and 
 rang the kitchen bell ; in a moment he was 
 surrounded by all those who had been in the 
 garden and near at hand. 
 
 There was no need of many words. He ex- 
 tended his arms towards the column of smoke 
 which ascended against the background of 
 yellow mist, and each one took in the whole 
 truth. The men ran to the sheds for tools 
 and then rushed to the fire. 
 
 Monsieur and Madame Sourof walked rapidly 
 by the side of their friend, without showing too 
 much anxiety, which would not be proper for 
 people of their class. Baranine had taken a 
 gait of which one would not have believed him 
 capable, seeing his bulk. Vera, Marie Drakof, 
 and the young people had run ahead. Agnes 
 was dying to follow them, but the external pro- 
 priety which she maintained on all occasions 
 prevented her from doing as she wished. 
 
 The smoke became dense and choking; 
 some burning coals fell into the path, and
 
 76 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER 
 
 Platon, while still running, had all he could 
 do to extinguish those which were within his 
 reach. The general snuffed the air loudly. 
 
 " It is the birches," said he ; " what a 
 perfume ! " 
 
 In spite of the gravity of the situation 
 both he and his friends burst out laughing. 
 Agnes could restrain herself no longer, and 
 ran to join the advance-guard, who were 
 horrified. 
 
 A vast clearing which had been made the 
 preceding year, and in which a few scattered 
 trees had been left for shade, was burning like 
 a brazier. Some small pines, and some clusters 
 of birches, scarcely three feet high, gave ex- 
 cellent food to the flames ; the furze which 
 carpeted the ground spread the fire, even by 
 its roots, and it all flamed up with a strange 
 noise and a ferocious activity. 
 
 " We must lose a good deal of it," said the 
 general, pointing out with his hand a consider- 
 able circuit. The forest itself was very near,
 
 THE FOREST BURNS, 77 
 
 separated from this brazier by a path only 
 seven or eight yards wide. Fortunately the 
 wind did not blow to that side, but a whirl 
 of the wind might bend the tops of the lofty 
 burning birches towards the great trees already 
 scorched, and the fire would then take on the 
 proportions of a disaster, the extent of which 
 could not be foreseen. 
 
 " How beautiful ! " said Agnes, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 "Is it not?" responded Ermile, who found 
 himself near her, no one knows how. " What 
 a misfortune that it should be so horrible ! 
 Look at that birch, it seems as if it were 
 really alive : it writhes ; its branches crack ; 
 one would say it is begging for mercy." 
 
 The other spectators looked on in silent con- 
 sternation. A crowd of women and children 
 who seemed to have sprung out of the ground 
 contemplated the spectacle with a good degree 
 of philosophy. The forest which was burning 
 belonged to the general ; if it had been the
 
 78 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 common property they would have been more 
 anxious. 
 
 A squadron of peasants appeared, under the 
 direction of an old man, with picks and spades 
 on their shoulders. 
 
 "Bravo! my children; you are prompt," 
 cried the general. " Begin your work there," 
 pointing to the part nearest the forest; "you 
 know what is to be done, don't you? And 
 you others, clear away this underbrush quickly. 
 The clearing is burning; let it burn, but do 
 not let the fire spread." 
 
 The men set to work with wonderful rapid- 
 ity. The Russian peasants are slow in their 
 movements, and display violent activity only 
 before a fire in the forest; but there they are 
 unequalled in energy and promptitude. 
 
 " And you women, go to work ! " shouted the 
 general. " What is the matter that you stand 
 there open-mouthed, and chatter like magpies? 
 Get your brooms and forks and throw back into 
 the fire all that falls upon the road. Quick ! "
 
 THE FOREST BURNS. 79 
 
 The village was not more than three hun- 
 dred yards away. In a few minutes the imple- 
 ments were brought, and the women, ranged 
 in rows, as when they turn the hay, began to 
 sweep the ground. 
 
 The heat was intense, and the spectators 
 were careful to keep to the windward of the 
 fire. Dosia watched to see that Vera kept 
 near Mademoiselle Titof. Platon, Ermile, and 
 Kola worked with the men to make the ditch 
 around the fire so that it should not be fed by 
 the roots and spread still further. 
 
 Agnes, near her mother, watched the excit- 
 ing scene, and asked herself why it was that 
 it inspired her with interest rather than with 
 regret. 
 
 The general approached Madame Sourof. 
 " Do you see," said he, pointing to the east, 
 " the river is there, thirty yards away? It flows 
 down the slope, so there is not much to fear 
 if the fire spreads on that side ; but if it goes 
 to the right, we are, that is to say, I am,
 
 80 DOSIA 'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 burned out. The wood extends to the garden 
 fence and adjoins the barns. In one hour 
 I may be all ruined, or in part. But sit down, 
 ladies, you will be tired." 
 
 With his chivalric politeness, meritorious at 
 such a time and under such circumstances, he 
 showed the ladies to the trunk of a fallen tree 
 lying on the side of the road, where Vera was 
 already sitting with her governess. 
 
 " Ah ! if I had water enough," continued he, 
 " it would be easy. I know some brave fel- 
 lows who would cut down the dangerous trees ; 
 but it would be necessary to make a path 
 through the furnace in order not to be roasted 
 alive there." 
 
 " Why," said Agnes, "the river is so near? " 
 " So near, but it is so low down, at least fif- 
 teen yards. If we should bring it in buckets 
 the water would all be spilled before it was 
 half-way to the fire." 
 
 Agnes looked at Baranine with a strange 
 expression of perplexity. Suddenly she made
 
 THE FOREST BURNS. 8 1 
 
 a motion with her hand, as if she were answer- 
 ing some welcome thought, and ran towards 
 the house. 
 
 " What is the matter with her?" asked the 
 general, in surprise. 
 
 " She has a new idea," answered Dosia, smil- 
 ing. " That is the way in which she usually 
 manifests them. She has thought of something 
 of which you will probably know soon." 
 
 Baranine went to encourage his men, who 
 were black with cinders and smoke. Platon, 
 his son, and Ermile worked like simple work- 
 men, and the blows of their picks were not 
 the least energetic. 
 
 " It wearies me to do nothing," suddenly ex- 
 claimed Marie, who had more than once 
 searched mechanically in her pocket for her 
 ball of wool. " Look here, child ! you are too 
 young. It is absurd ! Give me your brush- 
 broom, already half worn out." 
 
 The little peasant thus apostrophized al- 
 lowed her broom to be taken from her, and
 
 82 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Marie bravely took her place among the 
 women at work, but not without having first 
 pinned up her skirt with two pins. 
 
 " Agnes does not return," said Vera, anx- 
 iously. "Suppose I go for her?" 
 
 "No, no," replied her mother. "If you 
 went after her, in a moment Mademoiselle Titof 
 would go after you, and, neither of you coming 
 back, I should start off to find you all. Mean- 
 time each one would return by a different way, 
 and would then go back in search of the others. 
 I know all about that." 
 
 However, Dosia was not at ease, and the 
 time seemed long to her. She was wondering 
 whether she ought not to go to the house, 
 when the sound of the bells drew her attention 
 to the road. 
 
 " A traveller ! " said Baranine, who had come 
 up. " Well, he will have a nice time passing 
 here ! The road has caved in, and if he has 
 more than three horses he will be overturned 
 in the new ditch."
 
 THE FOREST BURNS. 83 
 
 But the bells did not sound like those of a 
 team on the trot; they approached slowly. 
 
 "What the devil is it?" said the puzzled 
 general. 
 
 Just then there appeared on the road a truly 
 extraordinary equipage, an old white horse, 
 drawing an enormous hogshead, mounted on 
 four wheels, which was provided with a spout, 
 and a pail with a handle to draw up the water. 
 On the horse, seated comfortably enough, 
 with her feet on the shaft, Agnes held the 
 reins. 
 
 " Agnes ! And there is water ! " cried Bara- 
 nine. " Hurrah ! " 
 
 The astonished workmen stopped a moment. 
 
 " Hurrah ! " repeated the general. " Hur- 
 rah for the young lady ! Now the forest is as 
 good as saved." 
 
 Every voice repeated the hurrah. 
 
 With the modesty of true merit Agnes con- 
 tinued to advance. Then she jumped down 
 from the horse and gave the pail with the long
 
 84 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 handle to her father, who had come to meet 
 her. 
 
 " This was an idea," said Platon, " and a 
 good one. How did you manage it ? " 
 
 A half-dozen men with their axes were 
 already cutting a path through the underbrush, 
 which was about to take fire. Others, at the 
 same time, were pouring water to prevent the 
 fire from surrounding the pioneers. 
 
 " I thought of the hogshead all of a sudden," 
 replied Agnes to her father, " and remembered 
 that I had seen the old Whitey draw it many a 
 time. I knew he was gentle as a lamb, and I 
 took him from the stable. I had some trouble 
 in harnessing him because I did not know how 
 to do it. There was not a soul in the house, 
 naturally. At last I made it out. I went 
 to the banks of the stream, and there oh, it 
 was such fun ! I found a strange gentle- 
 man who was about to ford the river in 
 his carriage. When I tried to draw up the 
 water to put it in the hogshead I spilled
 
 THE FOREST BURNS. 85 
 
 much more over myself than I put in the 
 cask." 
 
 " That was not strange," said Platon, laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 " Then the gentleman took the reins and 
 ordered his coachman to fill the hogshead. 
 You cannot imagine how comical it was, this 
 coachman, with his long cloth coat and Mus- 
 covite cap, drawing up the water with the 
 gravest manner, while the other held the 
 horses with an equally serious air. I was 
 dying to laugh, but I did not." 
 
 "You are wet?" said Platon, passing his 
 hands over his daughter's shoulders. 
 
 " I was, but one dries quickly in this heat. 
 I do not know how you can endure it. Just 
 see Vera and Mademoiselle Titof, sitting over 
 there for pleasure. It is cool in the woods. 
 On the bank of the stream it is shady; it is 
 delicious. The cask is empty. I will go and 
 fetch some more water." 
 
 With a quick, light movement she jumped
 
 86 DOSfA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 on the back of the horse, arranged her dress 
 about her feet as if it had been a riding-habit, 
 shook the reins on the back of the gentle beast, 
 and made it trot, although for ten years it had 
 given up the habit of doing so. With the 
 decreasing sound of the bells Agnes disap- 
 peared under the thick birches which made 
 an arch above her head. 
 
 Baranine had watched her going off with a 
 mingling of gratitude and admiration, while he 
 also felt like laughing. The picture was, at 
 the same time, both graceful and comical. He 
 immediately turned towards the women, and 
 shouted in a thundering voice : 
 
 " Fools that you are, there is not one of 
 you who would have had the idea of this 
 young lady. You have water-casks in the 
 village ; go and fetch them quickly ! " 
 
 All the women scattered at first, then three 
 or four ran on, while the others returned to 
 their work. A quarter of an hour later the 
 woods were filled with the sound of the bells,
 
 THE FOREST BURNS. 87 
 
 and Agnes, as she returned, found herself 
 obliged to give up Whitey's reins to coarser 
 hands than her own. 
 
 " It is too bad ! " said she, sighing. " I have 
 not had such fun for a long time." 
 
 The day was passing. The sun was disap- 
 pearing behind the forest, and the flames 
 seemed redder. Every one was weary, and yet 
 the danger was not overcome. They were sure 
 that the fire would not be spread further by 
 the roots, because the ditches dug so hastily, 
 now constantly filled with water, formed an 
 impassable barrier around the great extent of 
 the clearing which had been sacrificed. But 
 the trees whose branches were already nearly 
 consumed began to burn at the trunks. If 
 their fall should precipitate them beyond the 
 trench there would be much to fear. The 
 forest, already singed by the intensity of the 
 blaze, had more than once taken fire, in some 
 bushes upon its borders, from the rain of 
 burning cinders. A path was finally opened
 
 88 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 through the blazing underbrush, and the thing 
 now to be done was to cut down two birches 
 which were especially dangerous by their near- 
 ness to the road. The lavish use of the water 
 permitted the wood-cutters to begin their 
 work, but no one seemed anxious to put the 
 axe to a tree which was dropping burning 
 coals instead of fruit. 
 
 " Forward, children \ " exclaimed Bara- 
 nine. " If I were young I should be the 
 first." 
 
 A very excusable hesitation was still to be 
 seen among the group of men. Suddenly a 
 jet sprung forth spontaneously from a tree, 
 near the ditch, which had been spared until 
 now. The fire curled up the leaves with 
 an almost joyous crackling; the branches 
 snapped and threw their flaming fragments 
 into the air like a show of fireworks. 
 
 Ermile hastily seized one of the wet linen 
 sacks with which the men covered their heads 
 and shoulders, and with an axe in his hand he
 
 THE FOREST BURNS. 89 
 
 rushed forward under the rain of fire. The 
 sound of the first blow of his axe was heard in 
 the profound silence which had before been 
 interrupted only by the hissing of the flames. 
 Kola followed him immediately, and Baranine's 
 cook, a tall, sturdy, fine-looking fellow, rushed 
 after him. All the peasants would have fol- 
 lowed if the general had not called them to 
 order. 
 
 The flame and smoke sprang in fantastic 
 jets, from time to time, and revealed the work- 
 men to those who remained on the road. 
 Agnes took a little turn on the road. She wished 
 to see what would happen, and she went near 
 the tree where Ermile was at work. She could 
 not see the pioneers, but she heard their voices, 
 though they scarcely spoke in the smoke which 
 blinded them and stung their throats. A 
 group of children had followed her and re- 
 mained near, watching the oscillations of the 
 tree which was attacked. At each blow of an 
 axe it shook down a shower of sparks. Two
 
 90 DOSfA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 other trees trembled also, and seemed ready to 
 fall. A cracking was heard and the trunk of 
 Ermile's tree bent towards the road. The 
 children ran away, except one, younger or less 
 intelligent than the others, who was looking 
 up open-mouthed. 
 
 Agnes began to retreat, measuring, with 
 her eye, the probable extent of the danger, 
 receding but an inch at a time, for the sake of 
 caution. The pleasure of danger was a new 
 and delicious sensation to her, and she wished 
 to enjoy it to the full. 
 
 " Agnes ! " cried out some voice in alarm. 
 
 " Here I am," replied she, mechanically. 
 
 She heard steps behind her, and, thinking 
 she would be scolded for exposing herself 
 thus, she cast one look of regret at the tree, 
 now leaning over so much that its fall was 
 imminent, and at the same instant she saw, 
 opposite to her, the child, petrified in un- 
 conscious admiration. 
 
 " Agnes ! " cried her father, with an imper-
 
 THE FOREST BURNS. 91 
 
 ative tone ; he was a few yards behind her. 
 The tree cracked, staggered, throwing out a 
 torrent of sparks. 
 
 Agnes rushed forward, with an impulsive, 
 irresistible movement, and snatched the child 
 up in her arms. At the same instant the tree 
 fell across the road, exactly in the place where 
 the little peasant had stood, and they were 
 both surrounded with a whirlwind of flame 
 and smoke. 
 
 Agnes leaped rapidly over the largest pieces 
 of burning wood, walked over the rest without 
 thinking, and reappeared in the road. She 
 was not injured, but her dress was burned in 
 five or six places, and her shoes were begin- 
 ning to smoke. 
 
 She put the child down, safe and sound, and 
 looked about her, smiling vaguely in the loved 
 faces which surrounded her; then, raising her 
 hand to her half-burned hair, she fainted 
 and fell into her father's arms. 
 
 A little fresh water on her temples soon
 
 92 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 restored her. When she opened her eyes 
 Ermile was watching her with a face full of 
 anxiety, and she could not resist smiling, to 
 reassure him. 
 
 " Agnes ! " said her mother's trembling voice, 
 " I ought to be very angry with you " 
 
 " O mamma ! do not say that ; you would 
 have done the same. Where is the child?" 
 
 It was near by, in the arms of its mother, 
 who was weeping violently. 
 
 " Everything is all right," said Agnes, ris- 
 ing, " except that I have burned my dress. It 
 does not look very well." 
 
 Nothing further was said : all hearts were 
 too full for words. Meantime the two other 
 birches had fallen in the burnt clearing. 
 Water was thrown all about them, and the 
 danger seemed to be over. 
 
 At*this moment Kola and the cook came 
 upjf as black and smutty as Ermile him- 
 self. 
 
 " You are a brave fellow," said Baranine to
 
 THE FOREST BURNS, 93 
 
 his cook, who was running rapidly towards the 
 house. " Where are you running so fast? " 
 
 " Ah, Your Excellency," replied the worthy 
 fellow, turning around, " it is six o'clock, and I 
 have not yet begun to prepare your dinner ! " 
 He went on without waiting for a reply. 
 
 " Why, how you look, all of you ! " said the 
 general. " I am ashamed to be clean, upon 
 my word ! " 
 
 "The fact is," said Ermile, looking at his 
 hands, " I must be hideous." He cast an 
 anxious look towards Agnes, who was always 
 so exacting as to appearances. She looked 
 him straight in the face. 
 
 " It is the first time in my life that I have 
 thought you handsome," said she, heartily. 
 
 The others laughed. Ermile did not feel 
 like laughing. He felt an earnestness in 
 her voice which precluded all thought of 
 pleasantry. 
 
 " It is the same with her," thought he ; 
 " with her scorched hair and her tattered dress
 
 94 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 she seems to me a hundred times more beauti- 
 ful than in an exquisite toilet." 
 
 Some watchmen were left to look out for 
 the burned precinct, and the others slowly took 
 their way to the house. Each one felt himself 
 exhausted and in need of rest. The young 
 people were hungry as well, and Vera dared to 
 say so. 
 
 " I don't know what you will have for 
 dinner," said the general, " and I am miser- 
 able." 
 
 As they approached the kitchen the cook 
 came out to meet them. He had washed his 
 face and hands and put on a fresh pink 
 shirt. 
 
 " Excuse me, Your Excellency," said he to 
 the general, in a confused manner. 
 
 "Can you give us nothing to eat?" asked 
 Baranine, in a vexed tone. 
 
 " Pardon, Excellency ! There is a cold roast, 
 an aspic of game, a cold fish in jelly, and 
 bouillon for soup."
 
 THE FOREST BURNS. 95 
 
 "Ah, you stupid boy! what else do we 
 need ? " said Baranine, gayly. 
 
 " You ordered some ices, and it takes time 
 to make them." 
 
 A suppressed laugh ran through the com- 
 pany. 
 
 "We shall not have ices ! " cried Dosia, with 
 the merriment of her best days. " Just think, 
 my children, you will have no ices ! They are 
 all melted ! " 
 
 Her gesture of dismay was so droll that 
 the cook tried to hide his shamefaced 
 smile, and, not succeeding, he returned to his 
 kitchen. 
 
 " Look here, Nikita ! " called out the general. 
 
 The cook's head appeared at the window. 
 
 " How soon can we have dinner? " 
 
 "You must give me half an hour at least, 
 Your Excellency, for the fire is out; it is a 
 pity." 
 
 At this unexpected remark they all laughed 
 again. "There is no more fire ! that is really
 
 96 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 sad," said Baranine, laughing louder than the 
 rest. "Ah, well, we will wait!" 
 
 It required more than an hour for our friends 
 to remove the stains of their labor. They 
 came to the dining-room, at last, in the drollest 
 costumes. Dosia, her husband, and the gov- 
 erness were able to wear their own clothes, 
 after brushing them. Vera also wore her dress, 
 although it was badly enough soiled by the 
 cinders ; but the young men were obliged to 
 borrow from the wardrobe of the general, 
 which, in spite of the willingness of his 
 valet de chambre, could furnish nothing that 
 was not three or four times too large for 
 them. 
 
 Since there was no mistress of the house to 
 whom Agnes and Marie could apply, they had 
 been obliged to have recourse to the chamber- 
 maid. They came in dressed as peasants, each 
 one with her hair in a single braid down her 
 back. They were greeted with shouts and 
 laughter.
 
 THE FOREST BURNS. 
 
 97 
 
 They took their places at the table, and the 
 repast was served in an original and irregular 
 manner, which the general, even, had not the 
 heart to censure, and due allowance was made for 
 the circumstances. The dinner went on slowly, 
 the dishes were brought in at long intervals, 
 and it seemed that the servants wished to gain 
 time. At length the vegetable had followed 
 the roast, and, having been eaten, the general 
 leaned towards Dosia to ask her to give the 
 signal for rising. At this moment, and without 
 exactly observing the proper form, the waiter 
 placed on the table porcelain plates, upon which 
 were the knives and forks for the dessert. 
 
 " But there is no dessert," grumbled the 
 general. " Nikita said that he could not make 
 the ices, and I don't wonder, poor fellow ! " 
 
 " Your Excellency, there is a dessert," po- 
 litely murmured the servant. 
 
 " Oh, there is a dessert ! It is for that you 
 have gained or lost as much time as possi- 
 ble. Let us see Nikita's surprise."
 
 98 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 The steward entered, triumphantly bearing a 
 pyramid. All the servants, with an air of 
 pleasure, seemed to give it their best wishes 
 as it passed in. 
 
 "What have you there?" asked the puzzled 
 Baranine. 
 
 " Raspberry ice-cream ! " cried Vera, clap- 
 ping her hands. 
 
 It was true. In the shadow of the pantry 
 the silhouette of the cook might be seen, 
 who wanted to witness the effect of his sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " Nikita, come here," commanded the gen- 
 eral, coughing, to clear his voice, which was 
 husky with emotion. 
 
 " Here I am, Your Excellency," said the 
 good fellow, appearing at the door-way. 
 
 " No one could have done what you have 
 done to-day, Nikita," said his master, seriously. 
 " It is not on account of the tree you cut down 
 that I say this, although the tree in itself, and 
 in that furnace, in short, others did as much
 
 THE FOREST BURNS. 99 
 
 as that. But it is for your service as cook. I 
 am satisfied with you, Nikita." 
 
 " I thank Your Excellency. God give you 
 long life," said the young man, smiling with 
 content, as he retired, quietly. 
 
 " The Russians are like that," said Baranine, 
 in French, to his guests. " We are a curious 
 nation. We are not yet entirely spoiled. 
 Come, my friends, let us eat the ice ; that will 
 please him." 
 
 In spite of the persuasions of the general 
 Monsieur and Madame Sourof wished to return 
 home that evening. It seemed to them that 
 since morning a century had passed. 
 
 " You will carry to Sourova an odor of fire 
 which will last at least a fortnight," said the 
 excellent man ; " it will prevent your for- 
 getting me, and I shall not forget you ; I have 
 good reason for that." 
 
 He pinched Agnes's ear lightly, while she 
 blushed and smiled at the same time. 
 
 " What a curious thing ! " continued he,
 
 100 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " one invites his friends to pass the day with 
 him, and amuses them with a fire. He makes 
 them work like firemen, and everybody is sat- 
 isfied. What do you want? You seem to be 
 meditating a question." 
 
 " I want to know something of that little 
 boy; who is he? " 
 
 "The one you saved? He is the son of the 
 second coachman. His mother is as stupid as 
 a goose ; his father is often drunk. He will be 
 a fool, like his father and mother. Meantime, 
 he owes his life to you." 
 
 " Oh, dear ! " said Agnes, sadly. " In novels 
 those who are saved are always extraordinary 
 beings, full of merit and virtue ; and in real 
 life it is a simpleton, and the son of a sim- 
 pleton, who will never see further than the end 
 of his nose." 
 
 "Do you wish to have him carried back?" 
 asked the general, laughing. " There is still 
 fire enough to burn up the little brute." 
 
 " Thank you," replied Agnes, in the same
 
 THE FOREST BURNS. IOI 
 
 tone. "Since he has escaped, it was his 
 destiny. You know one does not hang twice 
 by the same rope; but you must grant it is 
 less agreeable for me than if he had been a 
 prince in a fairy tale." 
 
 " A matter of self-conceit ! " said Ermile, 
 near her, so low that she alone heard it. She 
 turned suddenly. 
 
 " Pardon me, if I wound you," said he, very 
 low and with much kindness. " But a good 
 action should not be measured by its object ; 
 it is simply a matter of humanity. See the 
 physicians in time of an epidemic. Do they 
 trouble themselves to value intellectually or 
 morally those for whom they endanger their 
 lives?" 
 
 She turned away thoughtfully, but her face 
 expressed no anger. A moment later they 
 entered the carriages. The two young men rode 
 with Monsieur and Madame Sourof. The four 
 young girls followed in the second carnage, and 
 Agnes said no more to Ermile that evening.
 
 102 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 As usual he shared the chamber of Kola, 
 but his sleep was troubled ; more than a dozen 
 times he awoke with a start, at the moment 
 when, in his dream, Agnes was surrounded with 
 flames, bearing a child in her arms.
 
 THE BEARS. 103 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE BEARS. 
 
 '"T^EN days had passed, and the Sourof 
 - family were beginning to recover from 
 their alarm, when one day, about two o'clock, 
 as they were all sitting in the drawing-room, to 
 avoid the heat outside, a sound of bells was 
 heard coming along by the garden hedge. It 
 ceased in the court, and the servant appeared, 
 with a card on a salver. 
 
 " Constantine Semenof, " read Platon. " I 
 do not know him. Who is he?" 
 
 " He is a nobleman, monsieur," which means, 
 in the language of servants, that a man is a 
 gentleman. 
 
 "What does he wish?" 
 
 " He desires to see Monsieur and Madame 
 Sourof, in order to pay his respects to them 
 as a neighbor."
 
 104 DOSIA' S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " It must be the new proprietor at Kouzlc," 
 said Dosia. 
 
 " Show him in," said Platon. 
 
 The visitor presented himself in the most 
 approved manner, wearing a diagonal cloth of 
 the English fashion of that year. He had, 
 however, entirely the bearing of a Russian of 
 good breeding. 
 
 " Oh ! " said Agnes, in a low tone. 
 
 Mademoiselle looked at her, surprised at her 
 rudeness. 
 
 " It is the gentleman of the river bank," said 
 Agnes, in a whisper, by way of explanation. 
 
 The new-comer did not appear to notice 
 Agnes more than the others. He advanced 
 towards Platon, mentioned his name, and re- 
 quested the pleasure of being presented to 
 Madame Sourof. All this was irreproachable. 
 Dosia invited her guest to be seated ; he com- 
 plied with grace, and a conversation began. 
 
 He was, in fact, the new proprietor of a very 
 considerable estate, situated some versts distant,
 
 THE BEARS. 105 
 
 on the other side of the stream which watered 
 the general's forest, but nearer to Sourova. He 
 was making the necessary round of ceremoni- 
 ous visits among his neighbors, and was full of 
 praise of the surroundings and of the country. 
 
 Semenof had tact, and proved this by speak- 
 ing of himself in such a way as to make him- 
 self known without wearying his hearers with 
 his personality. He showed no curiosity re- 
 garding those whom he visited. 
 
 When inviting him to sit down, Dosia had 
 simply said, " My daughters," with a gesture 
 which designated Agnes and Vera. His silent 
 inclination, with a perfect elegance of manner, 
 had provoked a courtesy from Vera and a slight 
 bow from Agnes. 
 
 The proprieties being ended, the visitor ad- 
 dressed himself to Platon. 
 
 " Has your friend, General Baranine, put out 
 his fire? " asked he, with a slight smile. 
 
 " The same day, after a few hours," was the 
 response. " Did you know of it? "
 
 106 DOSIA 'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Agnes, who was annoyed, said calmly, " This 
 is the gentleman who made his coachman fill 
 the cask." 
 
 " It was you ? " said Dosia, laughing. " You 
 should have said so at once ; you would have 
 been treated as a benefactor." 
 
 " I should prefer to be received on my own 
 account," replied Semenof, with great courtesy. 
 
 There was more cordiality in the conversa- 
 tion of the next few minutes. Semenof, with an 
 admirable reserve, avoided speaking of Agnes, 
 or addressing himself directly to her, and, 
 moreover, when he was gone no one could 
 even say that he had looked at her. 
 
 " That was a visit to you, Agnes," said Dosia, 
 in a light tone. " You have fished up an adorer 
 on the bank of the river, with your handled 
 pail." 
 
 " Mamma, you know very well that I detest 
 such jokes," replied the young girl, in an angry 
 voice, and she shut herself up until evening in 
 the silence of her worst days.
 
 THE BEARS. IO/ 
 
 After a proper time had elapsed Monsieur 
 Constantine Semenof, who had meantime re- 
 ceived a visit from Platon, presented himself a 
 second time at Sourova. The head of the 
 family had made inquiries concerning his visitor, 
 and all that he could learn being very favor- 
 able, the new-comer was invited to dinner the 
 following week. Such is Russian hospitality, 
 always generous. He came, and was ex- 
 tremely correct, as usual, but he showed a 
 shade more of marked attention to Agnes. 
 
 She feigned not to see it ; but Vera, who was 
 not content with being a good little girl, round 
 and plump as a quail, was, into the bargain a 
 cunning gypsy. This malicious Vera said 
 that evening, as she was going to bed : 
 
 " Ania, is it for the pleasure of papa's con- 
 versation that Monsieur Semenof comes here? " 
 
 " I believe not," replied Agnes, without sus- 
 picion, " for he talks to papa of the least 
 interesting things, and the first one who hap- 
 pens to come along will do as well for him."
 
 IO8 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Ania," again said the sly little one, " is it 
 for the sake of mamma's beautiful eyes that 
 Monsieur Semenoff comes?" 
 
 " Vera ! " cried Mademoiselle Titof, who was 
 scandalized. But Vera was not to be abashed, 
 and continued : 
 
 " Ania, it must be, then, for your beautiful 
 eyes, for if you had been a Charlotte-russe you 
 would have melted under the fire of his 
 looks." 
 
 "Vera, will you hold your tongue?" said 
 Mademoiselle Titof, quite upset at hearing 
 such reflections from the mouth of her inno- 
 cent pupil. 
 
 The little innocent leaped on her bed, seated 
 herself, and arranged her small feet under her 
 night-dress. Then she took her knees in her 
 arms, and, resting her little chin on them, she 
 looked at her sister with the most audacious 
 knowingness, then, half turning her face, flushed 
 with pleasure, towards her governess : 
 
 "You don't understand me," said she. "No
 
 THE BEARS. 109 
 
 one knows what I can do. But nothing can 
 prevent my being mamma's daughter, and 
 mamma said many worse things at my age 
 without minding what she did" 
 
 (t Vera ! Vera!" cried Mademoiselle Titof, 
 amazed at this new language. 
 
 "Kola is papa's son pure cream and 
 Agnes, nobody knows there is some cream, 
 and some whey very sour." 
 
 "Is that all, little fool?" said the elder 
 sister, in her most scornful tone. 
 
 Vera shook her head, and continued, quite 
 undisturbed : 
 
 " I am a little jumping-Jack out of its 
 box ! No one knew what was inside ; it 
 is a surprise. But I shall not show all 
 my merits until my sister Agnes is married 
 and gone ; when that great, clumsy Ermile, 
 or, better, this new wooden gentleman who 
 dined here to-day ; or, better yet, another still 
 more new, shall have led away my dear sister. 
 You know that he is made of wood, your
 
 IIO DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 lover. His head can be separated from his 
 neck. At night he takes it off and puts it 
 on the table so as not to hurt it." 
 
 " Vera ! Vera ! you are crazy ! " said Mad- 
 emoiselle Titof, falling into a chair. 
 
 " Oh, no ! " said the child, with extreme can- 
 dor. " But you do not appreciate my kind- 
 ness. If I had shown all my qualities while 
 Agnes is still in the house, between us two 
 you would have lost your head, dear madem- 
 oiselle; but with one at a time you may 
 manage it. There ! I have finished. I will 
 say no more until the day of your wedding, 
 Agnes. Good-night." 
 
 She dove down quickly under the bed- 
 clothes, and said no more. A minute later 
 her regular breathing announced that she was 
 asleep. Mademoiselle Titof and Agnes went 
 into the next room. 
 
 " Well, this is something new ! " said the dis- 
 mayed governess. "Who could have thought 
 it?"
 
 THE BEARS. Ill 
 
 " I have suspected it more than once," re- 
 plied Agnes ; " but it is a surprise all the same. 
 It will annoy mamma." 
 
 " Happily Vera is not a dozen years old ; 
 she may be corrected." 
 
 Agnes smiled involuntarily. She knew by 
 experience that one does not correct her dis- 
 position unless she wishes to do so herself; 
 but her smile was mingled with bitterness, 
 because she was not inclined to take things 
 in good part. 
 
 " It is true that he is wooden, this Semenof," 
 thought she before she went to sleep. " He 
 is also as proper as a well-clothed marionette. 
 Happily we shall not see him often, I hope." 
 
 In this Agnes was deceived. Semenof did 
 come often, twice a week, at least, in 
 immaculate dress, as usual ; and in the inter- 
 val he sent, on the ground of being a near 
 neighbor, superb fruit and flowers to Madame 
 Sourof. 
 
 " This gentleman is very polite," said Dosia,
 
 I 1 2 DO SI A 'S DA UGHTER. 
 
 one day, as she received a basket of hot-house 
 grapes ; " but he annoys me a little, because I 
 do not know how to acknowledge his polite- 
 ness, not wishing it" 
 
 " We shall go back to Petersburg in two 
 months," said Platon, in a consoling tone. 
 
 " Two months is a long time in such a case. 
 I do not know why he annoys me so, this 
 Monsieur Semenof." 
 
 " He has a gift for it ! " said Vera, from her 
 corner. 
 
 Fortunately her mother did not hear her. 
 
 A servant entered bringing a very large 
 package. " The furrier sent it," said he, put- 
 ting it on the floor. 
 
 " It is the mother of my bears," said Agnes ; 
 " let us see it, mamma." 
 
 The strings were cut, and the monstrous 
 head of a bear of the largest size appeared, 
 then the paws, and at last the whole skin. 
 
 " What a superb carpet for your father's 
 work-room ! " said Dosia, admiring the thick,
 
 THE BEARS. 113 
 
 dark fur. " But it smells so strong of the 
 animal that it is unendurable; it must be hung 
 out for several days, and some one must be 
 careful to bring it into the drying-room at 
 night" 
 
 The skin was quickly spread out on the 
 lawn, under the beautiful September sun, 
 which still gave out a very perceptible 
 heat. 
 
 " Let us go to see my bears," said Agnes ; 
 " it is a long time since I have paid any atten- 
 tion to them." 
 
 " Our bears," corrected Vera. 
 
 Agnes looked at her crossly, but then reflect- 
 ing that Vera, having begun to play tricks 
 upon her elders, was able now to claim the 
 ownership of her bear, she said nothing. 
 
 Dosia followed her daughters slowly, look- 
 ing pleasantly around. She had preserved 
 her wonderful facility for interesting herself 
 in everything, and her life was full of unfore- 
 seen enchantments and pleasant discoveries.
 
 114 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " How they have grown ! " said Agnes. " It 
 is at least a fortnight since I have brought 
 them anything. Michka, Michka, come 
 here ! " 
 
 But the summoned Michka, who was sitting 
 up, regarded her with a sullen air. 
 
 She had rested her hands against the bars of 
 the grating in order to see them better. Sud- 
 denly the other bear, growling, extended his 
 paw and muzzle at the same moment towards 
 the delicate white hand, which appeared to him 
 like a dainty morsel. 
 
 Without screaming Agnes drew back hastily, 
 but her pallor showed how terrified she was. 
 Dosia ran to her daughter, and, with her 
 handkerchief wet in the fountain, immedi- 
 ately bathed the deep scratches. 
 
 " It is nothing, mamma," said the young 
 girl ; " thank you." 
 
 However, the blood was flowing, and they 
 returned to the house in great confusion. 
 Platon came out to meet them, and, when he
 
 THE SEARS. 115 
 
 heard of the accident, declared that the two 
 bears should be killed the next day. 
 
 " It was wrong to keep them so long," 
 said he. " Such beasts are only fit for bear 
 shows, and I condemn those from the stand- 
 point of humanity. It is cruelty and madness 
 to keep them in confinement, as this event 
 has proved." 
 
 " Papa," said Agnes, " I beg you not to kill 
 my bear; it was his brother that clawed at 
 me." 
 
 " And to-morrow yours will bite some one 
 else. No, my daughter, what I have said I 
 shall do. They shall not be made to suffer. 
 A ball in the head, and they will no longer 
 be dangerous." 
 
 Agnes was very much displeased. Since her 
 experience in the forest she had become 
 enamored of danger, and the scratch of the 
 bear's claw had given her less physical suffer- 
 ing than justifiable pride on account of the 
 courage with which she had borne it. She
 
 Il6 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 considered her father's decision as a personal 
 affront, and fell into her most unsocial humor. . 
 
 Towards evening Vera, wishing to console 
 her, came to her secretly. 
 
 " Agnes," asked she, " is your hand very 
 bad?" 
 
 " Very bad? No, but bad enough." 
 
 " Can you move it?" 
 
 " Yes ; but not much." 
 
 " It is the left hand, luckily, for I want your 
 help." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Ermile and Kola are coming back from 
 their visit to the old Drakof this evening. I 
 want to play a trick on them ; but first promise 
 me that you will not tell any one." 
 
 " If it is dangerous I shall tell it imme- 
 diately." 
 
 " It is not dangerous ; will you promise 
 me?" 
 
 " Say what it is, and if it is dangerous you 
 will not do it."
 
 THE BEARS. I 1 7 
 
 " All right. I have faith in you. They do 
 not know that the bear-skin has come home, 
 and they have forgotten about it. I want to 
 frighten them." 
 
 "How?" asked Agnes, pleased with this 
 prospect. 
 
 "We must put the bear-skin in their bed- 
 room during supper-time, and when they go to 
 bed they will make a fine racket. Probably 
 they will fire a pistol at it; that would be 
 delicious." 
 
 Agnes reflected.. She had all her mother's 
 irrepressible fondness for fun, though she 
 very rarely indulged herself in it ; this time 
 the occasion was too tempting. She wished 
 to do it all the more because her father had 
 passed sentence on the bears, and her mother 
 had not opposed him. 
 
 " That can be done," said she ; " but if we 
 are caught we shall be scolded." 
 
 " That is nothing," replied Vera, lifting her 
 brows disdainfully. " You ought to have been
 
 I 1 8 DOS! A 'S DA UGHTER. 
 
 accustomed to that long ago, and I must get 
 used to it. It will happen to me often enough." 
 
 Agnes nodded affirmatively. Once more or 
 less was not of importance, and then, in reality, 
 she was not sorry to brave the paternal 
 authority. 
 
 " Very well," said she, with her usual dignity, 
 " at eight o'clock we will go." 
 
 " Your wooden lover dines here ; perhaps 
 that will prevent us." 
 
 " Oh, no ; since they will not find the bear 
 until they go to bed." 
 
 " All right, we will do it." 
 
 The delighted Vera leaped on her sister's 
 neck and stifled her with kisses. She then 
 went away, but after a few steps returned. 
 
 " Say, Agnes, what if, instead of frightening 
 these great boobies, we should put the bear 
 in Mademoiselle Titofs dressing-room? Per- 
 haps that would be still more fun." 
 
 " I will not have Mademoiselle Titof teased," 
 said Agnes, gravely. " It is another thing with
 
 THE BEARS. \\g 
 
 the young men. Kola has teased us enough ; 
 it would only be paying him off." 
 
 The wooden gentleman arrived about five 
 o'clock, and at the first glance Agnes saw that 
 he was prepared for something extraordinary. 
 Not that his dress or his personal appearance 
 were different from that of other days, but 
 his language and manners betrayed something 
 important and premeditated. 
 
 " Look out ! it's coming to-day, Agnes," 
 said Vera, softly, as she passed near her. 
 
 Fortunately General Baranine came almost 
 immediately, drawn by four piebald horses, on. 
 which he plumed himself so much the more 
 because their color was not the fashion. He 
 had bought them at a bargain, for almost noth- 
 ing. They all went out to see his turnout, and 
 he received many compliments on it. Seme- 
 nof, alone, approved it faintly. 
 
 " They are very fine," said he, " and well 
 matched ; but, general, that will always be an 
 eccentric turnout for you ; they are not classic."
 
 I2O DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Kola came up at this moment with Ermile, 
 just in time to catch this sentence, and, in 
 order not to laugh, he was forced to make 
 so droll a grimace that Agnes's ill-humor 
 could not hold out against it. Vera, in mock- 
 ing gayety, pinched her arm enough to bring 
 the tears. She took to flight, and went to 
 stifle her laughter in her pillow. 
 
 " It is classic enough for him," said Vera, 
 who had followed and thrown herself on the 
 floor, the better to give way to her fun. 
 " Kola's Greeks and Romans were simple 
 vagrants to him ! Henceforth he shall be 
 called ' Monsieur Classique,' with a capital C." 
 
 The dinner-bell sounded. " We shall be 
 scolded," said Vera, rising quickly. " I am 
 not sorry for that ; it makes me believe myself 
 to be a grown-up woman, like my sister 
 Agnes." 
 
 The company came from all directions to the 
 dining-room, so large, and so bright. Dosia 
 looked at her daughters severely ; but it was
 
 THE BEARS. 121 
 
 lost on them, for they lowered their eyes with 
 the most effective modesty. Agnes was placed 
 beside Semenof, who had not appeared to 
 notice her flight before dinner. He was ex- 
 tremely amiable and she extremely polite. 
 Unfortunately during the whole dinner she 
 could not help hearing Vera's voice, who, while 
 talking unaffectedly, now to Ermile, and again 
 to Mademoiselle Titof, managed to use the 
 word " classic " at least twice every five min- 
 utes. This upset Agnes's politeness a little, 
 as she feared that she should burst into a 
 shout of laughter. 
 
 At length the dinner was over, and they went 
 into the drawing-room for the coffee. Bara- 
 nine announced his intention of leaving almost 
 immediately, as he did not wish to be late with 
 his turnout of four horses, which his coachman 
 was driving for the first time. Moreover, the 
 night was very dark in spite of the rising of the 
 full moon, and everything gave signs of heavy 
 rain.
 
 122 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 The two sisters exchanged a knowing look 
 and slipped away very quietly. 
 
 The bear-skin was in the drying-room, and, 
 taking a little lamp, they succeeded in carrying 
 it off, one holding it by the head, and the other 
 by the hind paws. They carried it to Kola's 
 chamber, on the upper floor. The hour was 
 eminently favorable, as the domestics were eat- 
 ing their dinner in the kitchen, situated in an 
 isolated building, as is the fashion in the 
 country. 
 
 A candle was lighted, and the young girls 
 arranged the fur in several ways before they 
 found that which was most effective. At 
 length, after many unsuccessful trials, they 
 thought of placing it on two chairs, so that 
 the head would be at about the height of 
 a person's eyes, and the rest of the skin 
 well supported. In the shadow of the curtains 
 the monstrous beast was truly frightful. Then 
 they put out the light, closed the door, and 
 descended noiselessly to the parlor.
 
 THE BEARS. 123 
 
 The gentlemen had disappeared, and the 
 noise of the balls indicated that they were 
 in the billiard-room. General Baranine was 
 standing to take leave of his hosts. 
 
 Vera ran to tell her father, who appeared 
 with Ermile, their billiard queues in their 
 hands; with them they made a military 
 salute, and the excellent man departed at the 
 fastest speed of his piebald horses. 
 
 " Can I speak with you a few moments ? " 
 said Monsieur Semenof, in his most amiable 
 tone. 
 
 "Certainly," replied Platon. 
 
 " My children," said Dosia, (< go and play 
 us a duet." 
 
 " The Wedding March of the Midsummer 
 Night's Dream," said Vera, with such an air of 
 innocence that her mother did not notice it, 
 and replied, with an absent air, "Yes, that, or 
 anything you like." 
 
 Vera, full of fun, drew her sister to the 
 piano, and made such a noise with the bass
 
 124 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 octaves, that if Monsieur Semenof succeeded 
 in making himself heard he must have had a 
 loud voice. 
 
 After the march a scherzo, after the scherzo 
 a nocturne. The last was played very softly, 
 and Semenof, not foreseeing it, this phrase, 
 which he pronounced without precaution, was 
 distinctly heard : 
 
 "The advantages of fortune are not to be 
 despised. I can also boast, myself, on account 
 of my family ; my grandfather " 
 
 Vera, without reason, struck at that moment 
 a tremendously loud chord on the piano. 
 
 " You will never know who his grandfather 
 was," said she to her sister ; " so much the 
 better " 
 
 Semenof had lowered his tone, perceiving 
 that the music had ceased to exact so much 
 effort on his part. The nocturne was dying 
 away in an ethereal softness, when the door 
 opposite the piano was violently thrown open, 
 then closed again, and the favorite cham-
 
 THE BEARS. 125 
 
 bermaid precipitated herself into the room, 
 screaming like a wild-cat. 
 
 " Miss Agnes ! Miss Agnes ! the bear ! " 
 
 She rushed under the piano, and literally 
 hugged Agnes's knees, in which she buried 
 her clutching fingers. The sober people, at 
 the other end of the vast room, rose sud- 
 denly. 
 
 " Now we have it," said Vera, quickly. 
 
 The head of the bear appeared at the door, 
 which was half opened cautiously. A growl- 
 ing was heard ; one paw was shaken, then a 
 second, and the entire beast entered on the 
 head of Kola, who growled with a certain 
 talent, though feebly, in comparison to the 
 size of the animal. Ermile followed him with 
 a disturbed air. There was smothered laughter 
 in the corridor, where the presence of all 
 the servants could be guessed. 
 
 Kola advanced to the piano, swinging him- 
 self along, and threw the fuc down at his 
 sisters' feet. The chambermaid gave a final
 
 126 DOSfA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 scream ; on her hands and knees she crawled 
 in against the wall, and sat there, with dishev- 
 elled hair, and eyes starting out of her 
 head. 
 
 " This is the greatest impropriety," said 
 Dosia, angrily. " Such jokes as these can- 
 not be tolerated. Go out, Nicolas ! " 
 
 " Mamma, I am to blame," said Agnes, 
 bravely. " I carried the skin to my brother's 
 room." 
 
 " Mamma, it was I who thought of it," in- 
 terrupted Vera. " Agnes has only helped me ; 
 and, with her hand all bruised, she couldn't 
 do much." 
 
 " The fault is all mine," said her brother. 
 " If I had left the skin in my own room no 
 one would have known it." 
 
 Platon and Dosia were much embarrassed 
 between their three children, so much the 
 more since Semenof was present, without 
 losing his urbanity for a moment. He had 
 barely smiled when Agnes accused herself.
 
 THE BEARS. I2/ 
 
 " That is enough ; we will talk it over 
 later," said Platon, and, turning to Semenof, 
 "Will you pardon the interruption, sir?" 
 
 " Which has not changed my feeling," re- 
 plied Semenof, bowing. " I hold to my re- 
 quest ; and if I dared I should say that I am 
 more anxious for it than ever. I adore wit 
 and humor, and all that sort of thing," added 
 he, turning himself with a grave bow towards 
 Agnes, who was choking with laughter. 
 
 " You are very fortunate, monsieur," re- 
 plied she. " I enjoy it too ; that is why I 
 cannot endure stiffness and compliments and 
 all that sort of thing." 
 
 Semenof did not answer, but he turned 
 pale. " What sparkling wit ! " said he, with a 
 pleasant smile, addressing Dosia. " I shall 
 have the honor to return, on any day you 
 may name, to resume this conversation." 
 
 " I will write to you," said Platon, heartily 
 wishing him to the devil. 
 
 " I shall be much obliged. I am your
 
 128 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 servant, ladies. My dear sir, do not take the 
 trouble " 
 
 Escorted by Platon he took his leave very 
 properly; mounted his calash, and left Sou- 
 rova. 
 
 Kola had disappeared, obeying the com- 
 mand of his mother, but he remained near, 
 so as to answer if he should be called. Ermile 
 had rejoined him. 
 
 " It was kind of you, Ermile," said the 
 unhappy boy to him, " not to have told me 
 that you had warned me two or three times." 
 
 " That would have done no good," said the 
 reasonable Ermile. 
 
 " I have no chance," exclaimed Kola. 
 "Another day mamma would have laughed. 
 If it had not been for that conceited fellow 
 who was there, with his offer of marriage." 
 
 " Of marriage?" repeated Ermile, troubled. 
 
 " Yes ; Vera saw it, and she was right. 
 You understand that bringing in a bear, in 
 the midst of an offer of marriage, was a
 
 THE BEARS. 1 29 
 
 grave affair. Vera will be punished for a 
 week, at least." 
 
 While he was tormenting himself the two 
 culprits left in the parlor to which Platon 
 had returned explained all to their mother. 
 The chambermaid was sent away, after hav- 
 ing been duly " scolded all over," as she 
 said later, for her cowardice. Vera went to 
 confide her misfortunes to Mademoiselle Titof, 
 whom a headache had confined to her room 
 all day. 
 
 Agnes was thus left alone with her parents, 
 and the spirit of revolt began to rise in her 
 with a violence that she had not yet known. 
 Her mother said "vous" to her, and this 
 little thing troubled her more than all the 
 rest. 
 
 "Your bad disposition shows itself even 
 to strangers. This man came here to offer 
 you his hand, and you act like a school-girl 
 on her vacation." 
 
 "The joke was innocent," replied Agnes.
 
 130 DOSIA 'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 "It was that gentleman's offer which spoiled 
 it; but that was not my fault." 
 
 There was much truth in this remark, but 
 Dosia was angry, and it only irritated her all 
 the more. 
 
 " He speaks to you with regard and defer- 
 ence, and you reply like a badly behaved 
 child." 
 
 " I cannot bear stiffness, and foolish compli- 
 ments, and all that sort of thing," replied 
 Agnes, defiantly. 
 
 " My daughter ! " said Dosia, indignantly. 
 
 Platon thought best to interfere. 
 
 " Go to your room, Agnes," said he. 
 " Think over your conduct during the night, 
 and to-morrow morning we will talk of it." 
 
 As she approached her parents for her 
 good-night kiss Dosia turned away. Platon 
 placed his hand on his daughter's head with 
 a gentle sadness, and merely said, " Good 
 night." 
 
 This gesture, which was a caress, moved
 
 THE BEARS. 131 
 
 the young girl deeply. Her eyes were full 
 of tears, and if her mother had only looked 
 at her she would have fallen at her knees 
 and asked her pardon. But Dosia, much 
 displeased, would not turn her head, and 
 Agnes went out, feeling herself treated with 
 great injustice. 
 
 In her chamber she found Vera, who had 
 wept like a river, and had dried her eyes by 
 means of four pocket-handkerchiefs, which 
 were soaking wet. Seeing her sister, the child 
 precipitated herself into her arms with effusion. 
 
 " It is all my fault, my dear sister, my good 
 Ania." 
 
 Agnes was hardened only in appearance. 
 She received Vera's caresses with a tenderness 
 that was delicious to the young culprit, because 
 it was entirely new, a tenderness she had 
 never known. After putting her sister to bed, 
 and kissing her many times, Agnes went to 
 Mademoiselle Titofs chamber, which adjoined 
 that of Vera.
 
 132 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 A night-lamp was burning. The poor gov- 
 erness, after a day of cruel headache, had 
 suffered a rude shock in seeing her pupil come 
 to her in tears. 
 
 " Well," said she to Agnes, raising herself 
 on her elbow with difficulty, " how has it 
 gone with you? " 
 
 "Very badly; I am in the most complete 
 disgrace." 
 
 "Bless me! How is that? " 
 
 " Because that fool Semenof has got into 
 his head to offer his precious self to me, and 
 I have sent him flying." 
 
 "You have done that! " 
 
 " Exactly ! I should like to know if I am 
 obliged to marry against my will." 
 
 " But, my dear, no one asks you to do 
 that." 
 
 Agnes took up a paper which was lying 
 under her hand, and began to twist it nervously 
 between her ringers. " I don't know what is 
 wanted of me, but I know I have been treated
 
 THE BEARS. 133 
 
 as if I had committed some crime, and I have 
 not deserved it." 
 
 The paper crunched in her fingers as if it 
 had been Semenofs joints. 
 
 " Please drop that paper, Agnes darling," 
 said Mademoiselle Titof, quietly; "it is my 
 passport which has just been brought, ready 
 for my journey to Moscow. I ought to go 
 next week, but if you are so unhappy it would 
 be better for me to defer my journey. I could 
 not enjoy any pleasure while you are in dis- 
 grace." 
 
 Agnes had replaced the paper on the table. 
 " Well," said she, throwing back her head, 
 " it shall be as my mother wishes. But I have 
 not done wrong. If my parents do not think 
 that I consider the offer of that ridiculous 
 creature, Semenof, as an insult, they do not 
 know me." 
 
 "But, my child," said Mademoiselle Titof; 
 " they never had the thought of accepting him, 
 I am sure."
 
 134 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER, 
 
 "Well, then!" 
 
 " But it is no reason for being disagreeable 
 to him. A little diplomacy should be used." 
 
 " Oh, well, I am not a diplomat ! " said Agnes, 
 with a haughty air. " Good-night, my dear 
 friend. I ask your pardon for making your 
 headache worse." 
 
 She went away without being softened, and 
 all through the night she repeated to herself, 
 "But I have done no wrong; no, I have done 
 no wrong."
 
 SORROWS. 
 
 135 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 SORROWS. 
 
 ' I ^HE next morning all faces were full of 
 * care, and all hearts were heavy. Agnes's 
 attitude was not such as to disarm her mother's 
 resentment, for she had never been more 
 haughty. The day itself seemed made to 
 depress one's spirits. A curtain of whitish 
 rain separated the house from the rest of the 
 world. On the hill, opposite the veranda, only 
 a confused mass of forest could be seen, and 
 there the outlook ended. 
 
 In such circumstances people are either very 
 happy to be together and morally close to each 
 other, or else this forced nearness becomes 
 intolerable ; and here the latter was the case. 
 
 Mademoiselle Titof, while feeling much better, 
 was not yet able to take part in the life about 
 her. Vera, seated at the study table, worked
 
 136 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 hard at some lessons in which she was behind- 
 hand. She bent so low over her copy-book 
 that her braids fell on it from time to time, and 
 made there some transparent clouds in fresh 
 ink, to the great detriment of the text. 
 
 Ermile and Nicolas worked in their room 
 with that industry which follows disagreeable 
 experiences, when one feels that he has before 
 him the task of bringing himself to pardon his 
 own fault. 
 
 The whole day passed thus, broken only by 
 the gloomy meals, when no one spoke except 
 for the sake of form. Dosia felt that she had 
 been somewhat hard the evening before, but she 
 could not take back what she had said. Platon 
 waited, with sad heart, for the change in his 
 daughter's feeling which would allow him to 
 speak to her the firm and affectionate words 
 which he could always command under trouble- 
 some circumstances. But he understood Agnes, 
 and he knew that, at present, any attempt of 
 his to make her see her faults would be
 
 SORROWS, 137 
 
 useless, and perhaps perilous to his paternal 
 authority. 
 
 Twilight fell, a rainy autumn twilight, which 
 seemed to pour down upon the earth all the 
 sadness which had been hoarded up during the 
 radiant summer days. Agnes went into a long 
 glazed gallery, the place least frequented in 
 all the house, which made a passage to some 
 rooms usually uninhabited. The feeble, gray 
 light from without was penetrating it as much 
 as possible, giving a confused appearance to the 
 few objects it contained, extra chairs and 
 tables for the garden, pots of unthrifty plants, 
 and out-of-door games, placed there on account 
 of the rain. 
 
 It was always a bare and desolate place, but 
 more desolate than ever in the dull, faint light 
 which filled the gallery itself with the sensation 
 of the rain without. Sad as it was, Agnes 
 found it in perfect harmony with her state of 
 mind. Following a custom, very general in 
 Russia, she began to walk up and down the gal-
 
 138 DOSfA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 lery, from one end to the other, shaking up her 
 ideas and her blood, for she felt herself be- 
 numbed by the inactivity of this long, tiresome 
 day. 
 
 Little by little a tenderness came into her 
 thoughts; her cold and haughty anger gave 
 way to a sudden compassion for herself. 
 
 " I am most unhappy," said she, while her 
 eyes, that were fixed upon the fog without, 
 filled with hot tears. " Everything that I do 
 goes wrong ! I cannot think or act like other 
 people. It looks as if some evil fate pur- 
 sued me and inspired disapprobation of me 
 in all those whom I love. O mother! if 
 you but knew how much I love you ! If you 
 would only know and understand me ! " 
 
 The tears rolled down her burning cheeks, 
 and she did not think to wipe them away ; she 
 found a deep comfort in feeling herself un- 
 happy, and in piercing her own heart with the 
 sting of this pain. 
 
 " Is it necessary to be run in the common-
 
 SORROWS. 139 
 
 place mould for being loved?" thought she. 
 " Will nothing that is above vulgarity find favor 
 with good, and even intelligent people? They 
 punish me for refusing the addresses of a fool, 
 and this fool succeeds in making his presence 
 and his conversation agreeable to my father and 
 mother, who are so much above the ordinary. 
 Must one be like him in order to succeed? 
 O mother ! you have found my father to 
 love and lead you ; but I, shall I not find a 
 guide and friend who will bring joy to my 
 heart?" 
 
 An intruding shadow appeared at the end 
 of the gallery ; the darkness came on so rap- 
 idly that it could scarcely be seen. The figure 
 remained immovable until Agnes came near 
 enough to recognize it. 
 
 " Ermile ! " said she, in a sweet, tearful voice. 
 In her mental distress the help of a truly 
 compassionate soul was welcome. 
 
 He came quickly to her. " I trouble you," 
 said he, timidly.
 
 140 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " No, you may stay," replied Agnes. 
 
 He walked silently beside her. She had 
 relaxed the rapidity of her gait and her step 
 was now uncertain and weary. 
 
 " You suffer," began he, in a low tone, " and 
 I do not know what I would not have given 
 to prevent this deplorable joke." 
 
 " It was I who caused it," answered she ; 
 "besides that, what does it matter now?" 
 
 " If you knew," continued he, " how I have 
 suffered all day ! I felt that you were so sad." 
 
 " Ah, you do not know how they talked to 
 me ! I am not sure that my mother loves me, 
 even ! " A stifled sob made the young girl 
 tremble. 
 
 " Your mother ! O dear Agnes, you know 
 not with what a deep love ! But she looks 
 at things with a different eye from yours. At 
 her age this is natural."' 
 
 " And at mine it is also very natural to think 
 otherwise," responded Agnes, with returning 
 pride.
 
 SORROWS. 141 
 
 " Certainly," replied the good Ermile ; " but 
 why question this now? What we should do 
 is to mend things." 
 
 "An idle fancy," said she, bitterly. "The 
 trouble is old, Ermile; it is a mistake older 
 than myself. I have reflected much upon 
 this for several days, and I have learned 
 the meaning of some things which seemed 
 incomprehensible to me. You see, my mother, 
 who was what is called an enfant terrible, fears 
 nothing so much as seeing us like herself. 
 She wished her children to be like my father ; 
 that is why she loves Nicolas much more 
 than us. She does not know that she is 
 partial to him; but it is easy to see it. She 
 is almost afraid of me, Ermile, because I am 
 hard to manage." 
 
 She took some steps in silence. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I am difficult to manage ! " continued 
 she, with repressed violence. " I avow it to you 
 without shame ; but I also know how much good 
 there is in me, all stifled in my soul. You
 
 142 DOS/A' S DAUGHTER. 
 
 think me bound by customs, by exterior 
 things. I look pedantic. You, have you 
 never understood that I impose this restraint 
 upon myself in order that there may be a 
 restraint? That I create fictitious barriers for 
 myself because I am afraid that I should over- 
 step the true barriers if I allowed myself from 
 the first to act upon my own ideas and im- 
 pulses? " 
 
 " Yes ; I have thought that more than once," 
 replied he ; " otherwise you would not be con- 
 sistent with yourself." 
 
 " Do you think that a young girl, rich, 
 brought up in the paternal home, has had no 
 merit in distrusting herself? Is it not some- 
 thing to have struggled, even with an imaginary 
 evil? To have willingly imposed laws upon 
 herself, if they be only those of the exterior? 
 Does it not show a power which should some- 
 times be acknowledged ? " 
 
 " That is it, dear Agnes. You wish to be 
 looked at as being some one; and parents, in
 
 SORROWS. 143 
 
 general, will not do that with their children. 
 You are independent only of your years and 
 your discretion, but not by marriage" 
 
 " Marriage is merely changing masters." 
 
 " Not always," replied the young man, in a 
 singularly grave tone. " Some are reasonable 
 enough to treat their wives as friends, as 
 peers, when they are worthy of it." 
 
 Agnes made a disdainful gesture with her 
 hand. 
 
 " I wish to employ my best powers, while I 
 have them, to do something, some work, in 
 short, for others, not for myself." 
 
 " Work is not wanting in Russia. There is 
 everything to do. I know a young man with 
 small fortune, who was about to begin the 
 practice of law, and had the prospect of a 
 brilliant career in his native town, when he 
 heard that a teacher could not be found for 
 a village, situated far away in the marshes 
 Can you understand that primary teachers 
 might be needed?"
 
 144 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Ah, well ! " exclaimed Agnes, impatiently, 
 " your friend ? " 
 
 " He left his clients and went to the marsh. 
 He teaches reading and writing to peasant chil- 
 dren, at least if he has not died of fever." 
 
 Agnes clasped her hands tightly together. 
 " How beautiful that is ! " said she. " That is 
 the kind of people to be loved ! But I, 
 useless as I am ! Not even able to earn my 
 own bread" 
 
 " You don't know," said Ermile, smiling ; " I 
 think you might make a very good teacher." 
 
 She smiled faintly. 
 
 " And you," said she, turning suddenly to 
 her friend, " what do you wish to do? " 
 
 " I will teach our peasants not to lose their 
 labor and their harvests through ignorance, or 
 negligence, or stupidity; that is all that I can 
 do. I am not a hero," added he, humbly. " I 
 do not feel equal to heroic deeds. I should 
 know how to die for my duty, but I cannot 
 invent fictitious ones."
 
 SORROWS. 145 
 
 " Fictitious ! Are there then fictitious du- 
 ties?" 
 
 " I think so," replied he, with humble gen- 
 tleness. 
 
 " To keep your word, is that a fictitious 
 duty?" 
 
 " Certainly not ; but to swear to one's self to 
 do impossible things is, perhaps, a fictitious 
 duty. I do not know. I am an honest man, 
 Agnes, but I am not a knight" 
 
 " I saw you at the fire." 
 
 " Oh, that ! that was natural enough. What 
 I mean to say is, that I am wanting in poetry, 
 in imagination; perhaps I am simple, too 
 simple." 
 
 It seemed as if he begged pardon for his 
 simplicity. She looked at him a moment, a 
 little puzzled, disposed to take what he said as 
 a reality, feeling at the same time, confusedly, 
 that this extreme modesty was in itself an 
 indication of uncommon merit 
 
 " When one has given his word he must keep
 
 146 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 it," said she, with that slightly haughty decision 
 which was natural to her. " I do not know 
 whether it is a fictitious or a real duty, but it is 
 the duty of an honest man. I won't yield that 
 point." 
 
 He bowed his head, submissive, but not con- 
 vinced. Something within him protested, and 
 he would have liked to explain, to justify 
 himself, perhaps; but after Agnes's formal 
 declaration he did not know how. 
 
 " But, after all," said she, sighing, " these are 
 theories ; the thing is to overcome practical 
 difficulties." 
 
 He longed to tell her that her theories 
 made a large part of the practical difficulties 
 of which she complained ; but he could not, he 
 dared not, so much did he fear to displease her. 
 She suffered, but he suffered a hundred times 
 more than she, not being able to offer her the 
 only true remedy for all mental grief, a com- 
 plete tenderness, an entire abandonment of 
 himself forgetful ness, abnegation, in a word.
 
 SORROWS. 147 
 
 And she imprudently had robbed herself of 
 the consolation of hearing, even as she denied 
 him the joy of speaking it. 
 
 " Ermile," said she, suddenly, " this house 
 depresses me. I have offended everybody, 
 and I do not feel myself among friends." 
 
 Ungrateful child ! Ungrateful friend ! But 
 could he tell her so? 
 
 " I suffer cruelly here. I wish to go very far 
 away, so far, that nothing of the past would 
 return to my memory." 
 
 "Nothing? Ever?" demanded Ermile, in a 
 broken voice. 
 
 " Ever? Oh, I don't know ! Perhaps by and 
 by. Now, everything, wounds and saddens 
 me." 
 
 She clasped her hands with a sorrowful 
 gesture. 
 
 " I am eighteen years old, in the spring of 
 my life, and I am absolutely miserable. There, 
 Ermile, leave me ; I had better be alone." 
 
 He came nearer to her instead of obeying.
 
 148 DOSfA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " You are unhappy ; yes, dear Agnes, very 
 unhappy, but, if you pleased, you could be 
 otherwise." 
 
 " I know act like others, and be like 
 every one else," said she, with an expression 
 of bitter sarcasm. 
 
 " Yes," said he, courageously. " You can 
 never bring yourself down to a common level, 
 but you ought to accept general laws and 
 common duties." 
 
 " And clip my wings ? " 
 
 " Yes ; since your wings make you fly cross- 
 wise ! " 
 
 Amazed at his audacity, she stopped and 
 looked at him with as much curiosity as anger. 
 
 " Listen to me, Agnes. I love you more 
 than it is possible to express. I would give 
 my life to dry your tears, but I see you 
 wilfully blinding yourself, and it is my duty 
 to tell you so. Your father and mother adore 
 you, and wish only for your happiness; you 
 voluntarily misjudge them. At the bottom
 
 SORROWS. 149 
 
 of your heart you feel the truth of my words, 
 and your pride keeps you from acknowledging 
 it. You enjoy acting the part of an unappre- 
 ciated person, because if you should give it 
 up you would be obliged to be submissive to 
 the laws, which at present you only denounce. 
 I offend you, Agnes; I know it, and yet I 
 never loved you better. Perhaps you will 
 never forgive me, and I stake my happiness 
 in order to give you this supreme warning. 
 It is time for you to renounce your fancies: 
 be simple and good, as you know how to be, 
 as you were that day at the fire in the forest, 
 when you saved that little child." 
 
 She said nothing; he went on vehemently, 
 but in smothered accents : 
 
 " Agnes, my well-beloved ! if this house 
 oppresses you, mine awaits you. We have 
 the same ardent desires to serve our time and 
 our country. Your firmness will compensate 
 for my indecision, and we could lead a life 
 suited to Paradise. And then, I love you,
 
 150 >OS/A'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Agnes I love you, and see only you in the 
 whole universe. Let us go to your parents, tell 
 them that you consent to marry me, and all 
 this sadness will turn into joy." 
 
 He had taken both her hands and regarded 
 her with a deep expression of devotion. 
 
 She almost said yes. She knew that he was 
 so good, so noble, so true, and within herself 
 she felt the growth of a delicious emotion. 
 She knew that, sustained by those strong hands, 
 she could pass through life above dangers and 
 petty cares ; her soul was melting for tears 
 and tenderness; she already was bending 
 towards him, ready to rest her head on this 
 generous bosom. Suddenly her terrible pride 
 asserted itself; she snatched her trembling 
 hands away from those of Ermile and drew 
 herself back. 
 
 " You had sworn not to speak to me of 
 these things," said she, angrily ; " you have 
 broken your oath." 
 
 He started back. In this moment he had
 
 soxxows. 151 
 
 forgotten the oath extorted from his weak- 
 ness 
 
 " I forbid you to see me again, do you 
 hear?" said Agnes, who struggled not only 
 with her pride, but also with the new senti- 
 ment which had seized her. 
 
 He looked straight in her face. " You are 
 doing wrong, Agnes," said he, pale with 
 emotion. 
 
 " I deny your right to judge me," replied 
 she. 
 
 " You cannot take that right away." 
 
 " I can ignore it in banishing you from my 
 presence. I do not wish to see you again ; I 
 repeat it; and if you do not find a pretext for 
 leaving this house I will go away myself." 
 
 He bowed low to her. 
 
 " I can only obey," said he. " Yours is a 
 cruel act, wicked, dangerous ; you will repent 
 it." . 
 
 "What! threats?" 
 
 "No, grief. Adieu, Agnes!"
 
 152 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 "Adieu!" 
 
 He left the gallery. It was now really dark, 
 and nothing could be seen without, except the 
 thick fog, which seemed to stick to the window 
 like a sheet of tissue-paper. Agnes ran to her 
 room and threw herself on her bed. 
 
 " I do not want, I do not want to love him ! " 
 repeated she to herself with an inexpressible 
 anger. " Love this man who ridicules me 
 blames me ! Foolish and cowardly heart, I 
 shall know how to bring you to reason. It 
 would be a fine thing if I could not prevent 
 myself from loving him when I will it. Where 
 there is a will there is a way." 
 
 In spite of this bold statement of prin- 
 ciples the unhappy girl wept bitterly far into 
 the night. A real grief had added itself to 
 her fancied sorrows. She loved Ermile, and 
 she had sent him away forever. 
 
 She was not one of those coquettes who 
 refuse in order to attract. It was entirely in 
 good faith that she had banished the young
 
 SORROWS. 153 
 
 man. She thought she had done an heroic 
 act. Curtius had leaped into the gulf. Scce- 
 vola had put his hand into the fire. Why 
 should not Agnes Sourof tear her heart out 
 by the roots?
 
 154 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ALONE. 
 
 r I "*HE next day was fine, and Platon an- 
 nounced that all the family would dine 
 with General Baranine, as he had promised the 
 other evening. The foliage of the trees, still 
 wet from the rain of the day before, had grown 
 yellow very rapidly, giving to the landscape a 
 rich, yet melancholy color. However, a bright 
 sunshine soon lighted the park and the woods 
 and made them merry, at least for the young, 
 who think not of to-morrows nor yesterdays. 
 Platon knew life better than that ; after taking 
 his cup of tea he went out on the terrace. 
 " Autumn already," said he ; " winter soon, 
 and another year will have fallen into the 
 abyss." 
 
 The flowers of the garden were shining with 
 an incomparable brightness. There is a mo-
 
 ALONE. 155 
 
 ment in the year when summer mingles itself 
 with autumn ; when the colors and per- 
 fumes of those mute friends seem to try to 
 give us all possible joy before their approach- 
 ing death : the grass is greener than ever ; 
 the reds, the purples, and the intense yellows 
 glitter in the gardens like little fireworks, 
 almost hurting the eyes by their intensity. 
 A frost comes, and all this gaudy pomp 
 falls, mowed down upon the turf and sud- 
 denly faded. 
 
 " Agnes," said Platon, seeing his daughter 
 crossing the garden at a little distance off. 
 
 She approached him silently. 
 
 "Listen to me, my child," said he to her. 
 " Your mother is in her room ; go to her and 
 tell her in a few words that you regret your 
 conduct, and we shall be quiet hereafter." 
 
 Agnes looked at her father again and again. 
 She wanted to tell him something, but she did 
 not dare. 
 
 " What do you wish? " said he, kindly.
 
 156 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " I want to tell you, my father, that if it 
 were you I should be sure of finding the 
 words which would touch your heart; with 
 my mother I fear that I shall not succeed." 
 
 Platon sighed. " But you ought to express 
 your regret." 
 
 Agnes remained silent. " Come now," said 
 Platon, in a slightly irritated tone, " you do feel 
 regret, I think?" 
 
 She raised her eyes to her father's and re- 
 plied, " I am in despair at having given you 
 pain, my father." 
 
 " Oh, well, go and say the same thing to 
 your mother, my child ! she asks no more 
 than that." 
 
 Agnes hesitated a moment, and then decided 
 to go on. " It is not the same thing, my 
 father; my mother has treated me differently 
 from you. I do not mean that I am not sorry," 
 began she quickly, seeing her father's face 
 grow sad ; " but it would be impossible for me 
 to express to her, without falsehood, the senti-
 
 ALONE. 157 
 
 ments which I have declared to you, to you 
 my dearly loved father," added she, in a 
 low tone. 
 
 Platon looked very anxious. Evidently 
 Dosia had deeply wounded the self-love of her 
 daughter, and the wound was not one which 
 would heal readily. 
 
 "Will you not do it for my sake?" asked 
 he, hoping to touch the heart of the child 
 whom he loved so tenderly. 
 
 " O my father ! there is nothing I would 
 not do for you," murmured Agnes, raising his 
 hand to her lips. 
 
 She was vanquished; the tears which fell 
 from her eyes, heavy and fast, like the rain 
 of a tempest, proved that her proud coldness 
 had come to an end. 
 
 Platon kissed the pure brow which was 
 offered for his caress. 
 
 "Go at once," said he to his daughter; 
 " your mother has waited only too long." 
 
 Passing his arm about Agnes's elegant waist
 
 158 DOSSA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 he led her towards the chamber where Dosia 
 was completing her toilet before going away. 
 
 " Dosia," said he, " here is our daughter, 
 who comes to speak with you." 
 
 He discreetly closed the door, and returned 
 to the veranda, where he remained in deep 
 thought, his eyes fixed on the golden tops of 
 the woods, which awoke so vividly in him the 
 thought of the decline of life. 
 
 The best strategist may make a mistake, and 
 this Platon did when he left his daughter alone 
 with her mother without being sure of the sen- 
 timents of the latter. It happened that Dosia, 
 after having reflected upon her anger of the 
 other evening, said to herself that her forbear- 
 ance had lasted long enough, and that hence- 
 forth she ought to employ all her severity to 
 lead back to her duty the child who had ap- 
 peared to forget it. 
 
 The old demon was not entirely dead in 
 Dosia's heart, that old demon which had for- 
 merly led her into so many follies. Age had
 
 ALONE. 159 
 
 not entirely corrected her undisciplined char- 
 acter, and, at times, she felt herself still capable 
 of a struggle with human nature in order to es- 
 tablish her own will. In such a state of mind 
 the conduct of Agnes could not bring the 
 change for which Platon hoped. The young 
 girl understood this from the sound of her 
 mother's voice, and all her pride rose up again, 
 so much the more that her effort to conquer 
 it had been most difficult. 
 
 "Well?" said Dosia. 
 
 She was standing before her long mirror, 
 putting on her gloves, ready to go out. 
 
 The tone was not very encouraging; how- 
 ever, Agnes thought that, after the way in which 
 her father had spoken to her, she ought to 
 conquer herself once more, and give her mother 
 the tribute of submission which was demanded. 
 But Agnes was sincerity itself, and she could 
 scarcely speak words which were not in full 
 accord with the state of her mind. 
 
 " Mamma," said she, hesitatingly, " I fear I
 
 160 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 have displeased you, and I wish that you would 
 not be angry with me." 
 
 Dosia's whole nature revolted against this act 
 of imperfect submission. 
 
 " Is that all you have to say to me? " said 
 she, haughtily. 
 
 " Yes, mamma," said Agnes, looking at her 
 fearlessly. 
 
 "Then you can go away. You will make 
 proper excuses to me for your impertinence, 
 or you will never appear before me." 
 
 Madame Sourof certainly went beyond her 
 intention in passing this sentence of banishment, 
 but she did not easily master herself, and her 
 autocratic ways were now so much more pro- 
 nounced that in her youth she had wilfully 
 escaped from all control. A French proverb 
 illustrates this curious fact by an eloquent, 
 though vulgar, figure, " When the devil is 
 old he becomes a saint." 
 
 " Then, mamma," said Agnes, " shall I not 
 go with you to General Baranine's?"
 
 ALONE. l6l 
 
 " It will be much better for you to remain 
 here. You can better reflect upon your faults ; 
 and perhaps your reason will return to you." 
 
 Agnes bowed to her mother, and went 
 towards the door; at the moment she turned 
 the handle Dosia was tempted to recall her. A 
 gesture, ever so formal and wanting in kindness, 
 would have sufficed to throw the undisciplined 
 child into her mother's arms ; but the two were 
 equally proud, and the gesture was withheld. 
 The young girl returned to her father, who 
 looked at her in amazement, seeing her so 
 pale. 
 
 " Mamma has commanded me to remain 
 here," said she, in a low voice. "You will 
 go to the general's without me." 
 
 "You have then offended her again," said 
 Platon, sadly. 
 
 " I have not intended it, I assure you, 
 papa," replied Agnes; " but I believe that 
 my mother is too angry with me to be satis- 
 fied with what I said."
 
 1 62 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 They heard the horses stamp and shake 
 their harnesses. Platon rose and placed his 
 hand on Agnes's head with his affectionate 
 and familiar gesture. " My child," said he, 
 "this is life; one must learn to submit 
 even when the punishment seems to us dis- 
 proportionate to the fault." 
 
 " The carriages are here," said the servant. 
 
 " Stay, my daughter," continued Platon. 
 " Solitude is sometimes a good counsellor. 
 Be not sad, but think about it. On coming 
 back your mother will certainly be in another 
 disposition." 
 
 Vera ran out ready to go. " Well, you 
 are not dressed. Are you not going?" said 
 she to her sister. 
 
 Agnes bent towards her and kissed her 
 with more effusion than usual. The child 
 was more dear to her since she knew her 
 to be the original and the involuntary cause 
 of her disgrace. 
 
 " No," said she ; " I remain here."
 
 ALONE. 163 
 
 Ermile and Nicolas also appeared, followed 
 by Mademoiselle Titof. The same exclama- 
 tions from them irritated the wounded self- 
 love of Agnes. 
 
 " No," replied she to their questions ; " I 
 am not going. I am in disgrace, if you 
 wish to know." 
 
 This declaration was received with incredu- 
 lous laughter; but the appearance of Madame 
 Sourof, silently though visibly moved, made 
 them understand that something serious was 
 going on. They all went to the carriages 
 while Agnes remained on the terrace. 
 
 Suddenly Ermile came running back, as if 
 he had forgotten something. 
 
 " I beg you, Agnes," said he, hastily, " give 
 me your commands; what can I do for you? 
 You are so evidently unhappy ! " 
 
 " I demand no favor of you," replied the 
 young girl, haughtily. " I have forbidden you 
 to appear before me. Do not you see, that 
 between my mother's hardness and your
 
 1 64 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 tenderness, which I discard, this house is be- 
 coming intolerable to me?" 
 
 He went away without adding another word. 
 She heard for some time the waning sound of 
 the bells on the carriages, which went away, 
 following the ravine ; and then their light 
 tinkling was lost in the distance, and the 
 deep silence of the woods surrounded the 
 deserted house. Agnes remained a long time 
 in the same place. Her hands joined listlessly 
 before her she looked at the hill without 
 seeing it. The whole world of childish 
 memories, of little, forgotten bitternesses, of 
 stifled rancors, of unreasonable angers, all 
 the fire that slumbers within us rose slowly 
 to the surface, following the current of her 
 thought. 
 
 In this twilight hour, in her happy home, 
 no images arose in her mind which could 
 soften or cheer her. Naturally sensitive and 
 melancholy, in spite of her flashes of youthful 
 gayety, she found a bitter joy in calling up
 
 ALONE. 165 
 
 the sorrows of a stormy childhood. She had 
 always been misunderstood. Her father alone 
 had known her, and Agnes was too clever 
 not to see how wise he was not to take 
 her part when her mother reprimanded her. 
 The young girl had a high conception of 
 duty. She knew that if her mother blamed 
 her, her father could not but disapprove of 
 his child. How cruel of fate it was that her 
 mother, so charming, and so tenderly loved, 
 could not endure in her daughter that which 
 had formerly been so natural to herself! Tears 
 fell slowly and sorrowfully from Agnes's eyes, 
 while she thus revived the days of her child- 
 hood. 
 
 " I have always been unhappy," said she to 
 herself; " and yet it seems to me that I ought 
 to have been happy." 
 
 The day faded ; a light, transparent mist 
 ascended from the valley, enveloping the alders 
 like a bridal veil. So a deep melancholy was 
 rising up in the heart of the afflicted girl, while
 
 1 66 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 at the same time an emotion of sweet sadness 
 crept over her soul less hardened than she 
 believed it to be. 
 
 " Perhaps it is my fault," thought Agnes, in 
 profound discouragement. " Others would be 
 happy in my place. I have a contrary dispo- 
 sition. My father loves my mother so much ! 
 How could he love her thus if she were not 
 good and noble? It is I who do not know how 
 to appreciate her. And I am condemned to 
 pass here my days, months, and years, without 
 knowing the hearts of those whom I love, or 
 making myself known by them. My life will 
 flow on, useless and frivolous, while I ought to 
 employ it to do some good." 
 
 A chill came over her and she entered the 
 house. Soon after the maid came to say 
 that her dinner was served. She went into 
 the dining-room and ate scarcely anything; 
 she swallowed down a glass of cold water, and 
 said she would have her cup of tea in her own 
 room.
 
 ALONE. 167 
 
 When the young servant who had brought 
 the tray had gone away, Agnes took a lamp 
 and went into Mademoiselle Titof s little library 
 
 to look for an interesting book. She felt 
 t 
 more and more, in the depths of her soul, 
 
 a deep sorrow, as if it were torn by some 
 ferocious claws, and she wished to escape from 
 her own thoughts. As she turned over the 
 books that she already knew, despairing of 
 finding one that would amuse her enough 
 to drive away her sorrow, her elbow knocked 
 down a folded paper, which opened as it fell. 
 She picked it up and abstractedly looked at it. 
 Mademoiselle Titof s passport, vist, in prepara- 
 tion for her journey, had been left upon the 
 bureau by mistake. Agnes read attentively the 
 half-written, half-printed page. We cannot say 
 why it is always interesting to read the passport 
 of an acquaintance. She looked at it carefully 
 from the top, where the Russian coat-of-arms 
 was engraved, to the illegible signature of the 
 last clerk through whose hands it had passed.
 
 1 68 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " One would say that it was made out for 
 me," thought the young girl, reading the de- 
 scription of the features of her governess. " It 
 is strange that we resemble each other so little, 
 and yet answer to the same description ! Ex- 
 cept the age, for I am seven years younger, this 
 would serve me as well, and then I look older 
 than I am " 
 
 She examined her fine face, changed by 
 the sadness which made it suddenly grow pale 
 in the mirror before her. " And to fancy that 
 a miserable sheet of paper like that makes 
 Mademoiselle Titof free to exercise her pro- 
 fession, to do good, to be independent 
 How much in so little ! " thought Agnes. 
 
 She stood looking at the passport with such 
 concentration that she seemed to ask of it the 
 secret of her destiny. A little farther away, on 
 the bureau, was the time-table of the Volga 
 boats, intended, also, to be used in the journey 
 of the governess. Agnes drew it towards her 
 and consulted it. Which boat would Madem-
 
 ALONE. 169 
 
 oiselle Titof take? Probably that of the 
 following Saturday, for the next one left this 
 same evening, at nine o'clock. Agnes looked 
 at her watch; it was half-past six. 
 
 Something was growing in her mind. She 
 could not, or dared not, yet explain too fully 
 to herself a project which appeared so vague, 
 and yet which was already decided in her 
 own mind, for everything converged towards 
 the same end. 
 
 She rang the bell and her maid came in. 
 "Where is Mademoiselle Titof s trunk? I do 
 not see it in its usual place." 
 
 " Her trunk has been at the station for 
 three days, miss," replied the young servant. 
 " Mademoiselle Titof would have gone to-day 
 if she had not been so ill since the begin- 
 ning of the week." 
 
 " Very well," said Agnes ; and she was once 
 more alone with the passport and the fascinat- 
 ing time-table. Suddenly, with a quick action, 
 she folded the two and put them into her
 
 1 70 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 pocket. She then went to her own room and 
 opened her wardrobe. A row of garments 
 hung there, displaying a whole gamut of colors. 
 She chose a large, dark cloak, which would 
 entirely conceal the simple gray woollen gown 
 she had worn that day. A cap with feathers, 
 round which a veil was twisted, was in her 
 bandbox, near by; she put it on, and then, 
 opening her writing-desk, took out her purse 
 and a small portfolio. Many dear and familiar 
 objects were near at hand. She scattered them 
 about with a sort of anger. Why should they 
 be there, before her, to speak of what she most 
 wished to forget? Her jewel-case caught her 
 eye. She pushed it away and closed the 
 drawer. A little valise, which was ordinarily 
 used for the small objects necessary when they 
 passed a few hours in the woods, happened to 
 be within reach. She thrust in some linen 
 and indispensable toilet articles, and then, 
 hiding the valise beneath her cloak, she left the 
 room furtively, as if she left some remorse
 
 ALONE. I/I 
 
 there. She entered her father's dressing-room. 
 A sheet of white paper on the bureau attracted 
 her. She took a pen and wrote : 
 
 DEAR PARENTS : I go away. Have no trouble for 
 me. I wish to try to earn an honorable living by my 
 own labor. Do not be angry with me, for I love you. 
 
 AGNES. 
 
 The house was still and deserted. The ser- 
 vants were dining in the farther part of their 
 quarters. Agnes passed through the vast 
 drawing-room, usually lighted up, but dark 
 this evening, filled as ever with the perfume of 
 the hot-house flowers which adorned it. She 
 opened the door leading to the veranda and 
 looked into the garden. The mist rose slowly 
 from the den. A kind of soft white down 
 seemed to surround the clusters of trees scat- 
 tered on the hillside, and moved slowly in 
 circles, changing in thickness and transparency 
 so gradually that the motion was impercep- 
 tible. The round white moon rose in an opal
 
 172 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 sky which daylight had scarcely left. Its rays 
 pierced the mist without taking away its 
 mystery. The silence was so deep that a dry 
 leaf dropping from a tree upon the grass might 
 be heard. Only the brook in the depths of the 
 vale sang softly its little, monotonous ditty. 
 The dahlias and china-asters were as visible in 
 the moonlight as at noontime. Their rich 
 hues, though softened, were still to be seen 
 on the grayish background of verdure in 
 the flower-garden. 
 
 " How beautiful all this is ! " thought Agnes. 
 Her soul seemed closed to every impression 
 except that of the beauty of the landscape. A 
 strange moral indifference had seized her. 
 She ran down a path which led to an outlet 
 of the park, and was closed by a wooden gate 
 with a simple latch. Her gloved hand raised 
 without hesitation the little iron bar, and the 
 gate closed behind her. 
 
 The road wound round a little hill. The 
 diaphanous shadows of the trees, already half
 
 ALONE. 173 
 
 stripped of leaves, formed a delicate net-work 
 shaded by the flying mist. The dampness was 
 scarcely perceptible. The ground was almost 
 dry under her feet, and Agnes walked quickly, 
 with a firm step. She did not consider the con- 
 sequences of the action which she carried out 
 so naturally; she did not even think of them. 
 She was not acting from reason, but from 
 instinct, and instinct almost savage, which 
 made her fly from a house where, for two days, 
 every thing had wounded her. 
 
 The steamer stopped at a little town four cr 
 five kilometers from the Sourof mansion. It 
 was a short walk, and Agnes had taken it many 
 times ; this evening the way seemed long to 
 her. Occasionally there were very dark places 
 extending back under the trees on the road- 
 side, and the young girl peered into them 
 questioningly, not that she was afraid ; but 
 she had that insurmountable feeling of pain 
 at the heart which accompanies extraordinary 
 deeds. Suddenly she heard, at a little distance,
 
 1/4 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 in a thicket, the strong strokes of an axe 
 upon a tree. " Some one robbing my father's 
 timber," thought she. Moved by her old habit 
 of order she was ready to turn back to give 
 warning, when she stopped herself. " To what 
 good now, and what matters one pine more 
 or less?" The essential point was that she 
 should profit by her newly-acquired freedom, 
 the novel sensations of which strongly agitated 
 her. 
 
 A long winding in the forest still separated 
 her from the Volga. She heard the sound of 
 wheels near her and was frozen by sudden 
 fright. Had not some one discovered her 
 flight? What would happen if she should be 
 taken back and be made a prisoner? Would 
 not the humiliation of such an adventure make 
 existence awful to her? 
 
 Ready to throw herself into the thicket if she 
 were pursued, and assured that she should not 
 be found should she pass the night there, she 
 listened attentively.
 
 ALONE. 175 
 
 The wheels sounded as if they were before 
 and not behind her. Another feeling of hor- 
 ror seized her. Might it not be the car- 
 riages of her parents, returned too soon from 
 the general's house ? Sometimes they took thi^ 
 road, which was less abrupt, although longer. 
 
 The wheels approached nearer and nearer. 
 She wished to hide in the wood, but the roots 
 of the trees were rough, and her shoes would 
 scarcely protect her against the brambles. A 
 clear spot opened into the forest at her left ; 
 entering it, and, hiding behind a pine, she 
 listened. 
 
 It was a simple telegue, drawn by one horse 
 and driven by a peasant. Whether the solitude 
 weighed on him, or whether he was in a poetic 
 humor, he commenced, in a half-voice, a popu- 
 lar song of a slow and sad rhythm. The still- 
 ness of the air allowed sounds to be carried a 
 long distance, for the strokes of the axe were 
 heard distinctly, although the wood-cutter was 
 already far away.
 
 176 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " I am an orphan," said the song ; " my 
 mother is dead, and no one pities my misery." 
 
 The horse went slowly, as if lulled by the 
 sad melody. 
 
 A vivid impression crossed Agnes's mind. 
 Was she not an orphan, although her mother 
 still lived? More quickly and farther, until 
 she could not be retaken. She went from 
 her hiding-place as soon as the peasant had 
 passed, and began to run. The sound of a dis- 
 tant whistle made her tremble in every limb. 
 It was the steamer ! What should she do if she 
 were too late? Happily she remembered that 
 the boat always whistled a warning before 
 rounding a little cliff the other side of 
 the town. She had still a half-hour before 
 her. It was not too much, for the place of em- 
 barkation was on the other side of the river, 
 and she must take a ferry-boat, which made the 
 passage for a few kopecks. Agnes trembled 
 once more at the thought that she might miss 
 the boat.
 
 ALONE. 177 
 
 At length she reached the bend of the 
 Volga. The ferry-boat was at its slip, ready to 
 leave, loaded with horses, carts, peasants, and 
 sheep. 
 
 " Wait ! " Agnes cried, several times. She 
 screamed, and it seemed to her that her voice 
 had no power. She ran, and her feet appeared 
 not to move, as one feels in dreams. 
 
 However, she had been heard, for the peas- 
 ants, who had seized the poles to push the 
 boat, stopped. She cleared the plank of em- 
 barkation at a bound, and found herself in the 
 midst of a group of a dozen or fifteen persons, 
 gathered at the stern, while the animals were 
 at the other end. 
 
 " Sit down, my daughter," said to her, pleas- 
 antly, an old peasant, wrapped to her eyes in 
 a great woollen shawl. " You ought to be 
 tired after running like that. Bless me ! What 
 a blessing to be young! " 
 
 The good woman moved to make a place 
 for Agnes on the bench. The fugitive, with
 
 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 a word of thanks, sat down. Aristocratic 
 pride had never shown itself in the manner 
 of this undisciplined girl. Far from believ- 
 ing herself to be of a race superior to that of 
 the peasants who lived, morally, so far beneath 
 her, she leaned rather and that instinctively, 
 for she was not acquainted with the modern 
 doctrines towards the belief which looks for 
 the principle of all the virtues in these simple 
 souls. The odor of the sheep-skin touloupes 
 offended her somewhat, but she silenced her 
 disgust in the name of Christian law, and was 
 thus able to conquer it, but not without the 
 help of some stoicism. 
 
 The ferry-boat moved slowly, struggling 
 against a very strong current. It was not a 
 ferry-boat in the true sense of the word, for it 
 was not held by ropes; it was a great flat 
 pontoon, calculated to receive a cumbersome 
 rather than a heavy load, such as wagons and 
 herds. The passengers seemed to be more or 
 less sleepy, with the exception of two peasants,
 
 ALONE. 179 
 
 very much engaged in the discussion of the 
 price of cattle. 
 
 Agnes looked around her. The steamer 
 which she was to take was seen at the bend of 
 the river, but it was still so far away, that the 
 noise of its paddles was scarcely that of an 
 indistinct echo, and its headlights shone con- 
 fusedly through the thin veil of fog floating 
 over the stream. 
 
 It was an exquisite spectacle, so much so, 
 that in spite of the contradictory emotions 
 which agitated her, Agnes could not refrain 
 from remarking its marvellous beauty. The fog 
 above the river was so transparent that the 
 moon was reflected in the still waters; only 
 their surface was a little dim, like a mirror 
 clouded by a breath. The banks disappeared 
 in a floating mist, now more and now less 
 dense ; the steeples of a village, situated on a 
 little cliff, emerged, sketching their fine silhou- 
 ettes on the silvery sky like so many minarets. 
 
 An imperceptible breeze carried the vapor
 
 180 DOSfA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 along with the current of the river in such 
 a way that everything had a dreamy look, 
 even life itself. 
 
 " It is like my destiny," thought Agnes. 
 " Do I know where I am going? " 
 
 The ferry-boat neared the wharf of the 
 steamer, which arrived at the same moment. 
 There was some shipping of freight, which 
 gave the young girl time to find Mademoiselle 
 Titof s trunk and take it with her. Five minutes 
 later the paddle-wheels awakened the echoes 
 of the sleeping forest, and Agnes, transformed 
 into Mademoiselle Titof, went towards Nijni 
 Novgorod, from, which she could easily reach 
 Moscow.
 
 A NEW EXPEDIENCE. l8l 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A NEW EXPERIENCE. 
 
 AFTER a troubled sleep on the narrow cush- 
 ion of the ladies' room, Mademoiselle Sourof 
 awoke the next morning with the first light of 
 dawn. 
 
 It was a strange awakening, confused, and 
 almost happy at first. Twice a year Agnes had 
 made this voyage, back and forth between 
 Petersburg and Sourova, and at the first mo- 
 ment it seemed as if she was making it now, 
 with her mother; raised on her elbow, she 
 looked about her and saw only strangers. 
 
 It was as if a thunderbolt had burst above 
 her head ; alone, so far from her friends, and 
 in spite of them. She realized for the first 
 time, since the evening before, the pain 
 which they must have felt, and suddenly the
 
 1 82 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 irrepressible, burning tears gushed forth from 
 her sorrowful heart. 
 
 What had they thought on their coming 
 back? What a return! What fears! what 
 tears ! Above all, the thought of her father 
 rent Agnes's soul. Perhaps he cursed her at 
 this morning hour, when the sun, entering 
 his room, was accustomed to bring to him 
 
 the father of a family, happy in his children 
 
 the joy of a new day. 
 
 " Oh ! I did not think enough of them ! " 
 said Agnes to herself. " I thought only of my- 
 self. I am a selfish girl." 
 
 An overpowering desire to turn on her steps 
 and immediately return home again seized 
 upon her. It was too cruel to pain those 
 whom she loved; better to suffer herself. 
 Quickly arranging her disordered toilet, she 
 ascended to the deck. Her voice was 
 cheerful, and her eyes filled with tears 
 which were not those of sorrow. Seeing the 
 captain, she asked him if, before reaching
 
 A NEW EXPERIENCE. 183 
 
 Nijni Novgorod, there was a chance of meeting, 
 at some stopping-place, a boat going down the 
 Volga. 
 
 " No, miss," said he, smiling, " we shall 
 not meet a single one before arriving. Do 
 you want to go home again?" 
 
 Offended at this familiarity, although it was 
 quite paternal, for the captain was a stout 
 man, with gray hair, not very gallant by nature, 
 Agnes replied by a very sharp " No," and 
 regained the ladies' room, where she felt herself 
 safe. Two or three hours later Nijni Nov- 
 gorod was outlined on the blue sky, with its 
 belt of old strong walls and churches. The 
 waters of the Oka, mingled with those of the 
 Volga, enlarged the river almost to the pro- 
 portions of a lake. 
 
 Agnes thought that the die was cast. Since 
 morning she had turned it all over, and she 
 had concluded that to go back would be 
 to disown the firmness and stoicism which she 
 had taken as the basis of her life. And then a
 
 1 84 DOSSA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 little taste for adventure ; the secret satisfaction 
 of having made this expedition so far so well ; 
 an unavowed desire to know about the life of the 
 young girls whose fathers were not rich landed 
 proprietors, in short, the worst sentiments of 
 Agnes's mind, disguised, even to herself, under 
 a very presentable exterior, inspired her with 
 the resolution to proceed on her journey. 
 
 The reflection that most influenced her, but 
 which she would not admit even to herself, 
 was that she dreaded horribly the reproaches 
 which would await her at home, and she felt 
 very strongly that were she obliged to make 
 amends for her fault she should only resist 
 the more. 
 
 " What is the use of beginning over again? " 
 said she to herself. " It would always be the 
 same thing. I will write to them. That will 
 be better." 
 
 The steamer stopped. Mademoiselle Titofs 
 little trunk was given over to Agnes, who, at 
 first, did not know what to do with it. Since
 
 A NEW EXPERIENCE. 185 
 
 her earliest childhood she had been accustomed 
 to consider a private carriage as a necessary 
 appendage to a station or a wharf. Now this 
 was not the case. 
 
 Then, very bravely, she did as she had seen 
 others do in like circumstances. She called a 
 drojky, ordered the driver to put her trunk on 
 his box, and directed him to go to the station 
 of the railway for Moscow. 
 
 It was a very new sensation to Agnes to 
 find herself in a vehicle so unsteady that it 
 threatened, at each moment to throw her upon 
 the rough and uneven pavement. Above all, 
 the coachman, perched in an indescribable 
 fashion upon his narrow seat, with his feet 
 resting on Mademoiselle Titofs little trunk in 
 a grotesque manner, was an object of fear to 
 her. It looked impossible that this strange 
 equipage could arrive safely at the top of 
 the hill, up which they were so painfully 
 toiling. 
 
 Some open shops, remnants of the great
 
 1 86 DOSfA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 annual fair, still gave to the place such an air 
 of animation as astonished the young girl. It 
 was quite a long time since she had been in 
 this city, as some years since a new railroad 
 had been constructed, which ran nearer to the 
 town in the neighborhood of Sourova. But 
 Agnes was not inclined to examine the 
 picturesque side of things. The hot sun gave 
 her a violent headache, her empty stomach 
 disturbed her cruelly, and, together with the 
 jolting of the road, she felt very much like 
 being sea-sick. 
 
 She was at length landed, safe and sound, 
 contrary to her expectations, before the little 
 temporary wooden building which then served 
 as a station to the railway for Moscow. 
 
 The train left soon. She had just time to 
 
 register her baggage and take a cup of very 
 
 black and bitter tea, mingled with a whitish, 
 
 muddy mixture, which pretended to take the 
 
 place of cream. 
 
 When leaving the ticket-office Agnes counted
 
 A NEW EXPERIENCE. 187 
 
 her money. She had about a hundred roubles, 
 for her father and her Aunt Sophie never 
 allowed her to want money. 
 
 A hundred roubles ! It was an enormous 
 sum for a young girl who bought only the 
 superfluities of life. At least it represented a 
 good many pairs of gloves. Thus she took a 
 good seat in a first-class carriage, in order the 
 more easily to endure the eight-hours' journey 
 which separated her from Moscow, with a feel- 
 ing of being well-to-do. 
 
 Her sorrow was entirely past; at least, she 
 thought so. The feeling of her own respon- 
 bility, and the plan which she had conceived 
 vaguely at first, now more clearly, since her 
 awakening on the boat, gave her a certain 
 consideration for her own decision and energy. 
 
 This plan was quite simple. Mademoiselle 
 Titofs passport gave her all the advantages 
 of a very honorable position as governess, 
 since it testified to the sojourn of the said 
 governess in the house of Monsieur and Mad-
 
 1 88 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 ame Sourof, landholders in the province of 
 Nijni Novgorod. What more natural, then, 
 than to pass herself off as Mademoiselle Titof, 
 and seek a position in harmony with Agnes's 
 taste ? 
 
 The plan was very well conceived ; but how 
 does one find these situations as a governess? 
 
 Agnes was not troubled about this. She 
 read, every day, in the advertisements of the 
 newspapers, such immediate and numerous de- 
 mands that she would surely be embarrassed 
 in making her choice. She would take a be- 
 fitting situation in a distinguished family, and 
 this would be the most noble revenge for her 
 upon those who had misunderstood her. When 
 she had proved that she was able to support 
 herself honorably they would be forced to 
 cease treating her as a disobedient child. 
 
 These thoughts, and some others, made the 
 time pass very quickly, if not very pleasantly, 
 until the moment of the arrival of the train 
 at Moscow, in the poorly-lighted station ; for
 
 A NEW EXPERIENCE. 189 
 
 it was, as at Nijni, a building of a temporary 
 sort. 
 
 As she had done in the morning, Agnes 
 took a carriage, and confided herself to the 
 care of a very eager driver, whose zeal ap- 
 peared to her to be a good augury. The 
 equipage was deep and large enough to allow 
 her to take the trunk beside her. 
 
 Fortunately she had found in her memory 
 the name of a hotel situated opposite the post- 
 office, where she had formerly passed the night 
 with her family. She gave the order to be 
 driven there ; but before a hundred yards had 
 been passed she perceived that the amiability 
 of the coachman arose from his preliminary 
 libations. The worthy fellow had no malice 
 in him, and the discourse which he addressed 
 to his horse was of the most affectionate char- 
 acter ; but he had a way of driving at a gallop, 
 and going crosswise through the street, which 
 constantly made Agnes fear that they should 
 break into one of the little gardens which
 
 190 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER, 
 
 fronted the buildings in that part of the 
 city. 
 
 It was already late ; the lighting by 
 petroleum lamps left much to be desired, and 
 the little houses, of poor and ancient aspect, 
 spread themselves out, one so much like an- 
 other, that at more than one turning Agnes 
 believed she was repassing the same street 
 through an error of the driver. 
 
 " Please," said she to him, touching his 
 shoulder lightly, " drive your horse a little 
 straighter, and not so fast, or we shall cer- 
 tainly be upset." 
 
 " You are perfectly right, my dove," replied 
 the man, regarding her in a most friendly way. 
 " We shall certainly be upset ; what a head you 
 have to think of that ! " 
 
 He soon brought his horse to a walk. The 
 poor beast, overdriven since morning, wished for 
 nothing better than to go as slowly as possible ; 
 and, to the inexpressible despair of Agnes, the 
 driver began to tell his tale to her.
 
 A NEW EXPERIENCE. 191 
 
 " You come from the province, my little 
 sister," said he to her, turning round on his 
 narrow seat, in such a way that the young 
 girl feared each moment that he would fall 
 over on her in the jolts which the slow pace of 
 the horse seemed only to make deeper, without 
 lessening their violence. " You come to take a 
 situation, one can see that soon enough. You 
 are well dressed, in very good style. You want 
 to be a chambermaid, eh? Say, do you want 
 to be a chambermaid?" 
 
 " We shall never get there at this rate," 
 replied Agnes, impatiently, but without anger. 
 Accustomed to being familiarly addressed by 
 the peasants, she did not feel hurt at being 
 treated in the same way by the driver of a 
 public carriage, though seeing him intoxicated 
 was slightly aggravating. 
 
 " Be easy, it is safer ; as you said yourself, 
 just now. We will go fast when the road 
 gets better." 
 
 Agnes gazed despairingly into the darkness
 
 IQ2 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 of the long street, scarcely lightened, here and 
 there, by a smoking street lamp. 
 
 "You want to be a chambermaid," repeated 
 the driver, returning to his fixed idea. " It 
 is not a bad trade but that of a cook ! Ah, 
 my dear ! I have in my time eaten 
 good cooking. No, the masters, you under- 
 stand, will never eat as good ! They have a 
 hundred little dishes as stupid as can be, and 
 then the mistress comes to the kitchen and 
 says, ' Glaphyra, you will do this ; you will do 
 that.' You well know that they always say 
 'Yes.' You must not contend with masters; 
 they are like horses ; they become vicious when 
 you oppose them. You answer Yes ; but you 
 do as you please. My first wife did her own 
 way, and the mistress never discovered it. 
 And the more she changed houses, the 
 more she found it the same thing. Masters, 
 you see, are all alike; they don't understand 
 anything." 
 
 " You will fall ! " said Agnes to him, more
 
 A NEW EXPERIENCE. 193 
 
 occupied with the balance of that slanderer 
 of masters than with his words. 
 
 " Have no fear, I am so used to it." 
 
 In spite of this consoling reply the man 
 placed himself somewhat straighter on his seat, 
 and lifted his reins, in which it was a wonder 
 that the horse had not entangled himself, for 
 they were dragging on the ground. 
 
 " Yes, you see," continued he, " my first 
 wife was a cook, because that is a good trade ; 
 but she was not neat, no, she was slovenly, 
 to do her justice, God keep her soul! 
 So as a second wife I took a laundress, and 
 now I am clean as a new penny. Wouldn't 
 you like to be a laundress? It is a good 
 trade." 
 
 " I should like very much to reach the 
 hotel," answered Agnes. " I am. cold and tired. 
 Be good enough to drive a little faster." 
 
 " O my little angel ! " cried the drunkard ; 
 " you ought to have said so. Just wait ; we 
 shall be there in the twinkling of an eye."
 
 194 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 A lash of the whip reached both the horse 
 and Agnes's head, which was fortunately pro- 
 tected by her veil, and the whole equipage 
 made a prodigious bound, as though it were 
 going to fly towards the stars.. They soon 
 struck the ground again, and with great force, 
 as Agnes realized ; but the driver was impertur- 
 bable, and the oscillations which he described 
 about his centre of gravity in no wise disturbed 
 his good-humor. 
 
 " Old boy ! " cried he to his horse, making 
 the lash curl round the poor beast's ears, " you 
 must show that you have got legs ! We are 
 carrying' one of our own set. Come on, boy ! 
 Better than you do for aristocrats ! " 
 
 " Boy " seemed to comprehend principally 
 that the whistling of a whip-lash in his ears 
 was very stimulating. He ran for half a minute 
 so swiftly, that, owing to the jolts, Agnes saw 
 the street filled with a myriad of lamps by no 
 means there. Then suddenly, without apparent 
 cause, except, perhaps, that he had run enough,
 
 A NEW EXPERIENCE. 195 
 
 he stopped, planted himself on his four feet, 
 and refused to go on. 
 
 " Eh ! go on, dog ! " cried the driver. 
 
 " Boy " disdained an answer to this address. 
 
 " Well, go on ! " repeated the drunkard, giv- 
 ing him a hard blow with his whip. 
 
 " Boy " flung up all four feet with such 
 unanimity that shafts and harness all flew into 
 the air. 
 
 " Ah ! the cursed beast ! he has broken the 
 shaft ! Wait, my little dove ! This don't amount 
 to anything. I am used to it. I have some 
 string in my pocket, and we will soon fix 
 it!" 
 
 Agnes now came near crying with rage. 
 Was her expedition to close with this ridic- 
 ulous denouement ? Passing the night in a 
 deserted street in Moscow, beside a vicious 
 horse and a tipsy driver, in order to guard a 
 trunk which did not belong to her ! 
 
 Had the trunk been her own, instead of 
 having been purloined from her governess,
 
 196 DOS/A' S DAUGHTER. 
 
 the young girl would have readily abandoned it 
 at the risk of never seeing it again. But per- 
 haps it contained family souvenirs, objects of 
 value to the poor girl, disinherited by fate, and 
 this thought was enough to inspire Agnes 
 with an unalterable resolution not to let this 
 encumbrance out of her sight. 
 
 Since leaving the station they had not met 
 a vehicle, so deserted was the part of the city 
 through which they drove, and she had no 
 hope of seeing help arrive in the shape of an 
 empty carriage. If only she could carry her 
 baggage herself! 
 
 " I wish I were at home ! " thought she, 
 suddenly; but, reproaching herself at once for 
 this lack of courage, she made a firm resolution 
 to overcome all possible weaknesses. 
 
 " Well," said she to the driver, " is it 
 mended?" 
 
 He was very busy with the broken shaft, 
 which he had somehow repaired with a piece 
 of wood and some string. A little sobered
 
 A NEW EXPERIENCE. 197 
 
 by the accident he was not so talkative, and 
 appeared to be less satisfied with himself. 
 
 " See how I have made it strong ! " said he. 
 " Let us go, miss ; have no fear. We shall 
 arrive in good shape, all the same, only it will 
 take longer. With a broken shaft we cannot 
 go very fast " 
 
 "But your horse, will he go?" demanded 
 Agnes. 
 
 " He's as quiet as a lamb. When he has 
 done with his little antics a child could lead 
 him with a thread." 
 
 " Boy " was, in fact, very steady so steady 
 that he could not be made to trot. Agnes 
 crossed Moscow at a walking pace, so her ex- 
 pedition took some time. 
 
 When they arrived in a more central quarter 
 a new trouble arose. At each moment, other 
 coachmen, who were in haste, were railing at 
 the unfortunate driver of " Boy," showering 
 on him both oaths and pleasantries. Agnes 
 began to find the common people less agree-
 
 198 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 able than she had imagined them, and now 
 only desired to get away from them. 
 
 At length, after driving through unknown 
 streets and squares, Agnes was set down before 
 the hotel she had named. There were only 
 servants about at this untimely hour, and 
 Agnes had some difficulty in making them 
 understand that she wanted a quiet room for 
 the night. 
 
 A waiter, less stupid or less sleepy than the 
 others, took a candle from a table, made a 
 sign to a porter in a pink shirt and bright yel- 
 low pantaloons, who shouldered Mademoiselle 
 Titof's trunk, and the three began to ascend 
 the stairs. 
 
 Passing floor after floor the little procession 
 finally reached the top story; their shadows 
 made grotesque outlines on the ceilings, but 
 Agnes was no longer disposed to look for 
 the ridiculous. A door was opened before 
 her, her trunk placed on the floor, and the 
 two men were about to go away.
 
 A NEW EXPERIENCE. 199 
 
 " I want to have some tea," said Agnes to 
 the man who seemed the most intelligent. 
 
 " Tea at this hour ! " 
 
 " Yes ; some tea at this hour. In the first 
 place it is not midnight, and then in hotels 
 I suppose one can have what one wants by 
 paying for it." 
 
 " Not midnight ! " repeated the bewildered 
 waiter. " Indeed ! then I will have some tea 
 brought you." 
 
 " Make haste ! " 
 
 "All right." 
 
 He disappeared in the interminable passage, 
 where his heavy steps resounded for a long 
 time. 
 
 Agnes remained alone with her candle, which 
 ran down in a lamentable manner ; seated on 
 a chair, she waited. 
 
 In a few minutes, weary of her inaction, she 
 got up and inspected the little bed. It was a 
 mattress, placed on four boards in a little iron 
 bedstead, as plain as possible. It was not its
 
 200 DOSfA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 simplicity which made her anxious ; but under 
 the only covering there was nothing, neither 
 sheets, nor a pillow-case to cover the pillow, 
 which was of extremely doubtful color. 
 
 " It is not their custom to keep the beds 
 ready for travellers," thought Agnes. " Pres- 
 ently, when the tea is brought, they will bring 
 sheets." 
 
 The whole house seemed as if plunged in 
 a deep slumber; not a sound betrayed any 
 occupant whatever. After waiting some time 
 Agnes opened the door of her room, took her 
 candle in her hand, and ventured out into the 
 passage. Here and there, before a door, was 
 seen a pair of boots, denoting that the chamber 
 was occupied. Agnes went on to the stair- 
 case ; it was totally dark ; this great empty 
 cage seemed as if made for giants. Taken 
 aback, she sought for a bell-rope. A whole 
 battery of electric bells was spread out within 
 her reach. She pressed one button; no re- 
 sponse followed. One after the other she tried
 
 A NEW EXPERIENCE. 2OI 
 
 them all without hearing a tinkle, even in the 
 farthest space. She raised her candle and 
 looked on the ceiling for the wires which 
 ought to correspond to the buttons ; there was 
 no vestige of them : the buttons were there 
 merely for the sake of good looks. 
 
 Agnes had never been extremely patient, 
 but she now felt herself extremely angry. 
 Returning to her chamber she discovered a 
 bell-rope and hung on it with wrath; the 
 result of her efforts was the same as before. 
 The tranquillity of the house did not appear 
 to be disturbed in the least. For a moment 
 Agnes thought she would go down and make 
 a racket in the vestibule, sure of getting some 
 response to this energetic proceeding; but she 
 reflected that it might end disastrously for 
 her, so she proceeded to arrange herself to 
 pass a bad night as well as possible. She 
 spread her cloak over the pillow and laid 
 down on the bed, which was as hard as an 
 ironing-board covered with dimity. See-
 
 202 DOSfA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 ing that she had no matches she decided 
 to keep her light burning, which could not 
 be any great help, as the candle was scarcely 
 more than a puddle of tallow, in the midst of 
 which burned a smoky, dried mushroom, which 
 answered for a wick. Turning her back to 
 this mock-light Agnes tried to sleep. 
 
 She had scarcely closed her eyes when she 
 felt something run rapidly over her hand; 
 sitting up suddenly she instinctively brushed 
 this strange object with her other hand, 
 then looked around her to see what it could 
 be. 
 
 An inexpressible horror and disgust seized 
 her when she saw the floor, the furniture, and 
 even the bed, covered with beetles, large, slow, 
 and black, and cockroaches of a golden-brown, 
 running with mad activity. They moved 
 about by hundreds, running to and fro, as 
 if the aim of their life was to run, no matter 
 where. Agnes's clothes were covered with 
 them ; the bed-covering, white before, seemed
 
 A NEW EXPERIENCE. 203 
 
 now to be ornamented with moving designs 
 formed by these nimble things. 
 
 Agnes knew that such insects existed, having 
 occasionally seen one run in the kitchen or 
 the pantry, which was immediately chased out, 
 in spite of the popular tradition which attrib- 
 uted to them the power of bringing good luck 
 to a house. 
 
 But such a flood of insects had never 
 entered her imagination, even in dreams. She 
 stood up in the middle of her room, terrified, 
 not knowing what to do, shaking her dress 
 mechanically, to throw off the unwelcome 
 creatures. The candle threatened to go out; 
 Agnes thought that, with the return of the 
 darkness, these myriads of bugs would fasten 
 on her, and a chill seized her. 
 
 " Ah, no ! " said she to herself; " I prefer 
 the street." 
 
 She looked at her watch, and found it was 
 half-past three in the morning. In half an hour 
 the bells would ring for matins, and she would
 
 204 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 have a refuge. Her resolution was quickly 
 made. She descended the stairs, taking care to 
 set her candle on the top in order to light up 
 her way as much as possible. She had hardly 
 reached the second floor when the wick went 
 out with a little crackling, which resounded in 
 the deep silence. She continued to descend, 
 her heavy heart full of bitterness and disgust 
 for men and things. A badly-smelling night- 
 lamp feebly lighted the vestibule. Two waiters 
 were asleep, stretched out on a bench. Agnes 
 thought she would wake them to tell them 
 the facts ; but she reflected that they were 
 not responsible for the care of the house, and 
 that it would be better to address herself to 
 the proprietor when day should come. A new 
 fear now came over her: what if the door 
 should be locked, what should she do? 
 
 An iron bar fastened the door, but it was not 
 very heavy, and Agnes moved it without much 
 trouble. The open door permitted the fresh, 
 damp air to come in, and this was like a resur-
 
 A NEW EXPERIENCE. 205 
 
 rection to the young girl. Her courage and 
 strength returned to her instantly. Shaking 
 her clothing for the last time on the thresh- 
 hold of this inhospitable house, she softly 
 closed the door, and found herself alone in the 
 street, lighted by the dim gas of some street 
 lamps. 
 
 Where should she find a church? It was not 
 difficult, for churches are everywhere in Mos- 
 cow; one could not go two hundred yards, no 
 matter in what direction, without seeing, near 
 at hand, the strange form of a dome or a 
 steeple. A breeze made the flame of the street 
 lamps tremble ; the pavement was damp ; a few 
 drops of rain falling from the roofs struck on 
 Agnes's face as she tried to find her bearings. 
 
 " I have no umbrella," thought she ; " I 
 must buy one." 
 
 A new gulf opened before her eyes ; what 
 an enormous quantity of things she must 
 buy ! But at that hour this question was an 
 idle one; those who sold umbrellas slept as
 
 206 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 well as others, and if it rained she must be 
 wet. 
 
 Even this consideration did not lead her to 
 reenter the house she had just left. She 
 went indifferently to the left or right, taking 
 care only to look about her in such a way as to 
 be able to return when day broke and take 
 Mademoiselle Titof's trunk, which was now to 
 her a conscientious duty, and for the time an 
 extremely annoying one. 
 
 Agnes had been walking scarcely five min- 
 utes, when she heard the first stroke of the 
 matin-bells sound very near to her, that 
 boom of the largest bell which always 
 produces such a deep and mysterious im- 
 pression. 
 
 She trembled, with the soil itself, so power- 
 ful was the concussion of the mass of bronze ; 
 it seemed to her as though her soul was sud- 
 denly awakened with the resonance of the air. 
 
 The bells were sounding one after another, 
 and all the churches of Moscow answered
 
 A NEW EXPERIENCE. 2O/ 
 
 to this call. Agnes felt the disgusts and 
 terrors of that night flying up to the sky 
 with that strange harmony, brought only by 
 chance, and which at times gave her ex- 
 quisite musical sensations. Guided by those 
 sounds she found herself before a church. 
 Two or three women, with black shawls on 
 their heads, passed her in the door-way ; they 
 belonged to the people : small shopkeepers, 
 or servants, who came to bless their day- 
 work with a prayer. 
 
 Agnes followed them; that kind of people 
 were the very ones whom she loved. 
 
 The church was very dark except where 
 the chandeliers burning before the holy 
 images spread a little luminous halo three 
 feet wide. The faces and hands of saints, 
 darkened by age, emerged from their long 
 robes, made of gold or silver. Evangelists, 
 one finger pointing to heaven, with a book 
 in their left hand; virgins presenting the 
 divine child ; archangels trampling the evil
 
 208 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 spirit, saints of every kind, preaching or 
 teaching, like Olez or Alexander Nevski, 
 crowded on the walls of the little church, 
 which smelt strongly of incense and wax. 
 
 From time to time a human figure, still 
 half-shrouded in darkness, came near a 
 chandelier, with a little wax-taper; the taper 
 was lighted and took its place among others, 
 whilst the half-veiled figure knelt, kissed the 
 image, and went back to darkness. The 
 impression was, on the whole, very mysterious, 
 but also very sweet and comforting. The 
 sacrifice which took place there was an in- 
 nocent one, a mystery of peace and love. 
 
 The deacon appeared before the closed 
 door of the chancel, and his deep voice 
 began the morning prayers. The choir singers 
 responded to the verses ; the service was con- 
 ducted with simplicity and touching good 
 feeling. Little by little the church was half 
 filled : peasants going to their work ; merchants 
 ready to open their shops ; workmen and work-
 
 A NEW EXPERIENCE. 2CKJ 
 
 women, who, moved by the religious sentiment 
 which is so strong in Russia, took from their 
 sleep the half-hour for morning worship. 
 
 Agnes had never attended matins ; often 
 in winter the loud bells had disturbed her 
 sleep ; she had turned her pretty head upon 
 her pillow, thinkjng " It is four o'clock," and 
 had slept again her happy sleep. Never 
 had she dreamed of the meaning of these 
 early bells during the dark hours of the 
 winter, when the north wind blew, and the 
 snow was piled up at the house doors. 
 
 It was a very strange thing for her to go 
 into a church at four o'clock in the morning ; 
 such experience she could have only by 
 leaving her father's house and travelling a 
 long way; but for those whom she saw 
 there it was very simple ; they rose every 
 morning at the peal of the bell, and God knows 
 what labor filled their time until the sun went 
 down. 
 
 There were in the church some babies still
 
 2IO DOS/A' S DAUGHTER. 
 
 asleep, wrapped in shawls, brought by their 
 mothers, and put down on the pavement, there 
 to finish out their interrupted night's rest; 
 there were other children, a little older, who 
 stood up, quite awake, examining the saints, 
 and listening to the music, filling their eyes 
 and their ears with something rich and warm, 
 sumptuous and welcoming, which to them was 
 religion itself. 
 
 The service ended ; the sextons came to 
 collect the tapers, which they blew out, leaving 
 the lamps still burning; the church was soon 
 empty. Agnes went out, almost the last one ; 
 nothing hurried her, not even hunger. She had 
 forgotten all her troubles in a sort of mystical 
 dream, full of sweetness, in which her prayer 
 had gradually blended, and life now ap- 
 peared to her much less difficult, and, 
 above all, far more simple, than she had 
 found it for a long time. 
 
 The day dawned, still pale and grey; but 
 the sky, covered with light clouds, promised
 
 A NEW EXPERIENCE. 211 
 
 pleasant weather. The young girl took her 
 way to the hotel, which she found without 
 difficulty. 
 
 The waiters in red shirts were now up, the 
 door was open, and two women, in rags, with 
 petticoats tucked up in their belts, were wash- 
 ing the pavements with showers of water, while 
 displaying their stout calves, which were very 
 dirty. 
 
 In the midst of this flood Agnes passed 
 through the entrance and found in the hall a 
 sort of clerk, clothed properly enough, who 
 descended the stairs, rubbing his eyes with a 
 circular movement of his fists. At the sight 
 of the young girl he stood still, his hands 
 fallen at his sides. 
 
 "What do you wish, miss?" said he, with 
 a sort of bow. 
 
 . " I want to have my trunk brought down, 
 sir," replied she. 
 
 " Your trunk ! But you do not live 
 here?"
 
 212 DOSIA*S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " I beg your pardon ! I arrived last even- 
 ing, and my trunk is upstairs." 
 
 One of the waiters in a red shirt came up 
 just then, and said, roughly, " It was you, 
 then, who went out this morning so early, and 
 left the door open? Say, you mustn't leave the 
 house doors open " 
 
 Agnes looked at him from top to toe. " It 
 was you, then, who promised to bring .me some 
 tea last night, and went to bed instead of doing 
 it? It was you who took me to a disgusting 
 room, full of nasty beetles and a bed with no 
 sheets? It was you who slept so well here 
 that one could unbar the door and go out 
 without being noticed?" 
 
 The man was about to reply coarsely, but 
 the clerk prevented him. Accustomed to 
 judge people by their looks, he felt that Agnes 
 was neither an adventuress nor a vulgar per- 
 son. 
 
 " If all that has happened, miss," said he, 
 " we owe you apologies. Be kind enough
 
 A NEW EXPERIENCE. 213 
 
 to say what you* desire, and you will be 
 obeyed immediately." 
 
 " I desire," replied Agnes, with her haughti- 
 est manner, " to have my trunk brought down 
 at once and put upon a drojky, and to know 
 how much I owe, that I may pay you." 
 
 Her manner showed so much decision that 
 the clerk dared not oppose her. Her trunk 
 was brought down and put upon a drojky, and 
 a sheet of paper, ornamented with a magnifi- 
 cent engraved heading, was given to Agnes, 
 showing her that the price of her room was a 
 rouble and a half. 
 
 " It is expensive here," said she, drawing from 
 her purse the sum demanded ; " but one would 
 not know how to pay for such good service." 
 
 The cold irony of her words so stupefied 
 the servants that they forgot to ask for pour 
 boire, a thing which certainly had never 
 happened to them before. 
 
 "Where are you going?" demanded the 
 driver.
 
 214 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 That was precisely what Agnes did not 
 know; suddenly a practical idea burst on 
 her mind. " To the station for Petersburg," 
 said she. 
 
 The driver was young and skilful, the horse 
 strong and steady; in twenty minutes Agnes 
 was at the station, a fine building, and suited 
 to its use. The trunk was taken to the bag- 
 gage-room, and Agnes, freed from a great 
 weight, went to the restaurant for breakfast, 
 where she could make herself comfortable at 
 her leisure. 
 
 It is something to get out of trouble so 
 quickly, and all alone, and the young girl 
 was disposed to feel very proud of herself. 
 
 " It is not difficult, after all," said she to 
 herself, tasting her nice coffee and that delicious 
 Moscow bread, called " Kalatch." She had a 
 good appetite, and life appeared to be quite 
 acceptable, after all, in spite of the last night's 
 experience, which now seemed very comical to 
 her. But if the present was supportable the
 
 A NEW EXPERIENCE. 21$ 
 
 future was entirely problematical. It would 
 be necessary to find a place for the coming 
 night, and Agnes began to distrust hotels. 
 
 One could certainly remain one night in the 
 station, where the ladies' room is always open, 
 like the rest; but this was not a very cheering 
 prospect, in spite of the nearness of the dress- 
 ing-room, which would allow the young girl 
 to make her toilet. 
 
 To make her toilet was, by the way, that 
 which she most desired at this moment. Her 
 appetite satisfied, she indulged in the luxury 
 of ablutions, and went out from the ladies' 
 waiting-room entirely reassured for the present, 
 and even disposed to see the future through 
 an agreeable coloring. 
 
 How, then, to find a situation as a govern- 
 ess? By reading the newspapers. Agnes 
 knew this ; but this method would demand time, 
 and more or less correspondence. However, it 
 would be better to lose a little time than 
 to find nothing. Agnes bought some daily
 
 2l6 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 papers, and seated herself in the waiting-room 
 to read carefully the fourth page. 
 
 Naturally she had gone into the room of the 
 first and second class, having no idea that she 
 could go elsewhere, and without thinking that 
 she might be recognized by some one of her 
 acquaintance. While she read the " Wanted " 
 attentively, making a list with a pencil in her 
 note-book of those that she thought might 
 suit her, an old lady came and put down her 
 bag and shawl-strap on a table near Agnes. 
 After giving a bit of money to a servant who 
 had brought her valise, she turned to look 
 about her. 
 
 " Ania ! " said she, with astonishment. 
 
 Agnes heard this exclamation, but pretended 
 that she had not. Besides, not exactly recog- 
 nizing the voice which had made it, she could 
 easily excuse herself from turning a deaf 
 ear. 
 
 "Ania, Agnes, Agnes Sourof! I am not 
 mistaken : it is you, my dear child ! How
 
 A NEW EXPERIENCE. 2 I/ 
 
 glad I am to see you! Your father is here? 
 No? Your mother then? And your little 
 sister, and Mademoiselle Titof? Are they all 
 well? You are looking finely. So much color 
 for you, who are usually so pale. Do you go 
 to Petersburg? We shall go together. Has 
 your mamma taken a compartment?" 
 
 " No, madame," said Agnes. She had not 
 hastened to reply, for the questions were em- 
 barrassing, and had she wished to speak she 
 could not, on account of the marvellous lo- 
 quacity of the old lady. 
 
 " No compartment ! All the more reason 
 why we should go together. Where are your 
 things? Put them with mine; or perhaps 
 they are already in the car ? " 
 
 " No, madame," said Agnes. 
 
 "Is that so? Where is your mother? Oh, 
 in the dressing-room, without doubt. After 
 a night in the train one has need of fresh 
 water. I don't understand about the manage- 
 ment of railroads; could they not manage to
 
 2l8 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 have a little less smoke ? You are going 
 to town early this year. I am obliged to 
 go to Petersburg on business ; but I return 
 in a week ; so I shall not find you then. I 
 shall miss you." 
 
 The good lady talked so fast that it was not 
 possible to put in a word ; the danger of being 
 obliged to speak existed only when she 
 stopped for breath, as then she looked up, 
 waiting for a reply. 
 
 " That is very kind of you," said Agnes, 
 who then recognized her as one of her coun- 
 try neighbors. 
 
 "You came by the boat to Nijni? I came 
 by the train ; it is tiresome, and so dirty. Do 
 you think I shall have time to go and wash 
 my hands ? " 
 
 " I think so," said Agnes, who knew abso- 
 lutely nothing about it. 
 
 " And then I should have the pleasure of 
 seeing your mamma sooner. I will go, and 
 you will look out for my bag."
 
 A NEW EXPERIENCE. 2IQ 
 
 The good lady rushed out of the room, and 
 Agnes ran after her with the bag and the 
 shawl. 
 
 " Take these, madame," said she ; " I can- 
 not undertake to watch them ; it is too much 
 responsibility." 
 
 She thought of Mademoiselle Titofs trunk, 
 which had already caused her so much care. 
 Before the good lady had recovered from her 
 surprise Agnes had disappeared, and when the 
 traveller returned to the waiting-room she was 
 no longer there. 
 
 During the journey this talkative neighbor 
 searched the compartments and the waiting- 
 rooms ; but no member of the Sourof family 
 was visible. 
 
 Disturbed, as well as puzzled, for she was 
 kind-hearted, the very day after her arrival 
 Madame Savine went to the city house of 
 Madame Sourof, and there learned that no 
 member of the family was in town ; neither 
 had they announced their coming.
 
 22O DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " It's very strange ! " thought she. " Then 
 it was not Agnes. But I could not have been 
 so mistaken ! Why did she speak the foolish 
 creature ! if it were not she ? " 
 
 And her inquisitive mind sought the solution 
 of this problem a long time without finding it.
 
 SEEKING A SITUATION, 221 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 SEEKING A SITUATION. 
 
 \ ONES had left the station as quickly as 
 r *- possible, and hurried down the first side- 
 street, without looking behind her, fearing pur- 
 suit. After what she had endured within the 
 last twenty-four hours the thought of returning 
 home was more unacceptable than ever to her, 
 for to the sense of her guilt was added that of 
 being ridiculous, and she dreaded ridicule above 
 all things. Agnes leaving the house on ac- 
 count of her mother's severity towards her, 
 that was one side of the question. Agnes as 
 the victim of padlocks and bell-ropes, of a 
 restive horse and a drunken driver, there was 
 material to delight for ten years all who were 
 inclined to make fun of her : it was that which 
 she could not endure. 
 
 After having gone some hundred yards in
 
 222 . DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 the unknown street which she had entered the 
 fugitive was about to turn towards the centre of 
 the town, when she saw a sign, placed on a 
 balcony, which read, " HOME FOR GOVERN- 
 ESSES." On the door of the house a bright 
 copper plate bore the same inscription. Agnes 
 hesitated an instant, looked back towards the 
 station, then before her in the direction of the 
 town, and finally entered the door-way. On 
 the second story the word " Home " again 
 appeared. . . She rang boldly. An old 
 servant-woman, very neat, came to admit 
 her. 
 
 " The Home for Governesses ? " asked Agnes, 
 in a less assured voice than she would have 
 wished. 
 
 " Is here, miss," replied the servant. 
 
 " I would like " 
 
 Agnes's voice failed her completely, and for 
 the first time she had a feeling akin to humilia- 
 tion. She was about to ask for something, 
 and should they refuse what she asked !
 
 SEEKING A SITUATION. 22$ 
 
 Her pride would be hardly able to bear that ! 
 The servant had understood. 
 
 " For a place," she said. " This way." 
 
 Agnes was ushered into a sort of office, fur- 
 nished with an oak-table and two or three 
 chairs. A little lady, still young, seated at 
 the table, was consulting alternately two regis- 
 ters opened before her. On seeing the young 
 girl she rose and motioned her to a chair ; then 
 she reseated herself, all in a mechanical fashion, 
 as if her principal care was to practise economy 
 in time and in movements. 
 
 "You desire a situation, miss?" said the 
 little lady, looking at her visitor. 
 
 " Yes, madame, a situation as governess." 
 
 Agnes had never imagined that this sen- 
 tence could be so difficult to pronounce. 
 
 " Have you references, a diploma, recom- 
 mendations?" 
 
 "Just now I have only my passport, mad- 
 ame," replied the young girl, producing that 
 document. "It will inform you that I am"
 
 224 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Agnes had such a noble air, offering the 
 paper with her delicate, well-gloved hand, that 
 the lady was inspired with respect. She 
 glanced over the passport with an experienced 
 eye. 
 
 " How long were you in the same house ? " 
 
 " I have been in no other." 
 
 The matron mentally compared the age on 
 the passport with that at which a girl would 
 usually seek a situation, and the calculation 
 seemed to satisfy her. 
 
 "And what was the cause of your leaving?" 
 
 " On account of family reasons," replied 
 Agnes, in a somewhat aggressive tone. This 
 examination irritated her exceedingly ; although 
 her good sense showed her how necessary it 
 was, she could not submit to it calmly. The 
 matron of the Home must have divined some- 
 thing of her feeling, for she did not insist on 
 further questions on this point. 
 
 "What kind of a situation do you wish?" 
 asked she.
 
 SEEKING A SITUATION. 22$ 
 
 " I should like to teach a little girl, not 
 too little, however," Agnes added hastily; 
 "ten or twelve years old." 
 
 "What are you competent to teach?" 
 
 " Everything ! " answered Agnes. Her con- 
 fidence was so na'ive that the matron smiled 
 good-naturedly. " I mean to say," continued 
 the young girl, " everything that is usually 
 taught: the sciences, languages " 
 
 " Including German? " 
 
 " French, English, and German." 
 
 " And music?" 
 
 "Music and painting in water-colors" 
 
 The matron felt much surprise that so ca- 
 pable a person had no recommendations; but 
 Agnes's beauty and air of distinction made 
 her suspect some little romance, very proper, 
 no doubt. Therefore she did not attempt to 
 know more." 
 
 "And what salary?" 
 
 Agnes was puzzled. She was absolutely 
 ignorant as to how much learning like hers
 
 226 DOSfA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 could command, and of what she ought to 
 ask. 
 
 Besides, the question of salary seemed to her 
 a secondary one, and almost degrading. 
 
 " I care less about that," said she, " than 
 about the respectability of the house I may 
 enter." 
 
 The matron was entirely satisfied. She ex- 
 amined her register with a busy countenance. 
 
 "Here," said she, "a little girl of eleven 
 years, a slight invalid ; she must be read to ; 
 you could not go out at all, five hundred 
 roubles a year." 
 
 " No, madame," replied Agnes, deliberately, 
 " I need air and exercise ; and, besides, I hate 
 to read aloud." 
 
 The woman turned to another leaf. 
 
 " In the provinces, does that make any 
 difference to you? Besides, it is not far from 
 here ; only an hour or two from the monastery 
 of St. Serge " 
 
 Agnes nodded approvingly.
 
 SEEKING A SITUATION. 22 / 
 
 " A little girl, twelve years old ; sciences, 
 French, German, and music; the whole year 
 in the country; four hundred roubles, does 
 that suit you?" 
 
 It suited Agnes perfectly. 
 
 " But it is immediately. You would have to 
 arrange to start this very day." 
 
 " So much the better," answered the girl, 
 reflecting that she would not pass the night 
 on the bench in the waiting-room at the 
 station. 
 
 "Then you may go to this address; you 
 will return and let me know whether you are 
 engaged. Where are you staying? " 
 
 " I have just arrived from the province, as 
 you see by the passport; my trunk is at the 
 railway station " 
 
 " Oh ! well ! if not engaged, you might 
 return here ; you may have a bed and board 
 for sixty kopecks a day." 
 
 This was consoling and almost hospitable; 
 but Agnes had too strong a desire to enter
 
 228 DO SI A' S DAUGHTER. 
 
 upon her duties not to accept, no matter what 
 situation, rather than remain inactive. She 
 felt, also, both for the sake of her relatives and 
 herself, that it would be more honorable not 
 to take advantage of the low rates of an insti- 
 tution, established in part, at least, for the sake 
 of charity. The matron rose at the same time 
 with Agnes; a sort of misgiving seemed to 
 come to her. 
 
 " I regret that you cannot furnish recom- 
 mendations," said she ; " you appear so young, 
 and, in spite of what you tell me, so inex- 
 perienced, that I should have wished to send 
 you to a better place; but without references 
 it is so difficult Could not one write to 
 these people with whom you were, to the 
 Sourofs ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! " cried Agnes; " not that." 
 
 "Why? Did you leave them on bad 
 terms?" 
 
 " Very bad," replied the young girl, turn- 
 ing away, her eyes suddenly filled with tears.
 
 SEEKING A SITUATION. 229 
 
 " I am sorry. . . . You see the address 
 which I have given you is that of a very 
 respectable lady. . . Oh ! there is nothing to 
 be said as to that, but of a rather difficult 
 temper the child, especially." 
 
 Agnes raised her head like a spirited war- 
 horse. 
 
 " That does not frighten me," said she. 
 "I have had experience with difficult tem- 
 pers." 
 
 " Then I wish you good success, miss." 
 
 "Thank you, madame; do I not owe you 
 something?" 
 
 " No," said the matron ; " not you. Mad- 
 ame Markof will give me a little money for 
 the Home, if she cares to do so, although 
 she is not obliged to. This is a benevolent 
 institution." 
 
 With a rapid movement Agnes opened 
 her purse and took out five roubles, which 
 she slipped into the box placed on the 
 desk.
 
 23O DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " That is for those who are poorer than 
 I," said she, with a timid, yet proud, smile. 
 
 Her eyes met those of the matron, who 
 placed her hands on the young girl's shoul- 
 der. 
 
 " If this place should not suit you, my 
 child, come back and see me," said she ; " we 
 will find you something else. Take our ad- 
 dress," she handed her a printed card, 
 " and accept my thanks for your less fortu- 
 nate sisters." 
 
 Agnes bowed, thanked her, went out, and 
 found herself in the street, greatly astonished 
 at what she had just done. 
 
 A drojky was passing; she hailed the 
 driver, and was again jolted along over the 
 phenomenally ill-paved streets of the good 
 old city of Moscow. The drojky stopped 
 before a hotel in all respects like that which 
 had sheltered the fugitive during a few hours 
 of the preceding night. The magnificent 
 facade presented numerous rows of windows ;
 
 SEEKING A SITUATION. 231 
 
 there were, indeed, so many that the smallest 
 room must have had at least two, so that 
 one could not stretch his arms without touching 
 the window panes. The broad, high staircase 
 had the same smell of fish-days' cooking and 
 of an old fur which one has slept in; but 
 Agnes was not allowed to continue her com- 
 parison in the upper stories, for on the second 
 floor she was introduced into a very shabby 
 drawing-room, where a lady of about forty- 
 five was taking tea, seated on an extremely 
 hard sofa. 
 
 Seeing Agnes, she arose, but when the card 
 from the matron of the "Home" was pre- 
 sented to her she reseated herself, not inviting 
 the young girl to do the same. 
 
 " Is it you who wish to enter my service? " 
 asked she. 
 
 " Yes, madame." 
 
 " Sit down," then said Madame Markof, 
 and she immediately began a formal exami- 
 nation into Agnes's acquirements. She evi-
 
 232 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 dently wished to find in her some fault ; but 
 this was not easy, thanks to Agnes's pedantry, 
 which had led her to go to the bottom 
 of things. The famous passport was also 
 produced, and no recommendations were de- 
 manded. If Agnes had known the world 
 better, this indulgence would have caused her 
 some disquiet, but she only congratulated 
 herself upon it. 
 
 " You please me," said Madame Markof, 
 at last. " You understand the terms : four 
 hundred roubles a year; payable quarterly, 
 and no vacations." 
 
 " I understand it, madame," replied Agnes. 
 
 " Then we will start this evening by the 
 five-o'clock train. Till then, if you have 
 anything to do, you are free." 
 
 " I will take advantage of it, madame," 
 said Agnes, rising. " I can say at the 
 'Home' that , you have engaged me?" 
 
 " Yes ; besides, I shall call there myself, 
 later."
 
 SEEKING A SITUATION. 233 
 
 " Good-by, madame," said the newly-made 
 governess. 
 
 " Good-by," answered Madame Markof, with- 
 out stirring. 
 
 "You are ill-bred," thought Agnes; "but 
 I will teach you manners ; you shall see ! " 
 
 " She is very pretty, but has an innocent 
 look," said the other to herself; " I shall get 
 the best of her without much trouble. If only 
 Mittia does not conceive the idea of falling 
 desperately in love with her Well ! I would 
 send her away! She would not be the first." 
 
 In the afternoon Madame Markof paid a 
 visit to the " Home," and tendered with a 
 satisfied air her modest contribution. 
 
 When she had gone the matron remained 
 perplexed. " It is curious," she said to her- 
 self. " The governess has given to our 
 poor girls five times as much as the lady 
 who engaged her. Poor thing ! she will have 
 a hard time of it ! "
 
 234 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AT SERVICE. 
 
 r I "*HE train bearing Madame Markof and 
 *- the young governess reached St. Serge 
 at that delightful hour when, although it is 
 growing dark, prominent objects are reflected 
 in strong outlines against the still, clear sky. 
 Nothing could be finer than the silhouettes 
 of the steeples and the different buildings of 
 the noble old monastery against the greenish- 
 blue of the firmament, dotted with stars at 
 the zenith. 
 
 A pleasant smell pervaded the ravine ; a 
 perfidious, but exquisite freshness rose from 
 the woods, wet by the autumn rains. Agnes 
 leaned out of the car-window to inhale the 
 perfume of the dead leaves. 
 
 " You will take cold," cried Madame
 
 AT SERVICE. 235 
 
 Markof. " Close the window, miss. I have 
 a horror of draughts." 
 
 " As for me I adore them ! " Agnes was 
 about to reply; but she suddenly remem- 
 bered her dependent position and raised the 
 glass without a word. 
 
 The train stopped Loaded with a quantity 
 of small parcels which Madame Markof had 
 unceremoniously placed in her hands, Agnes 
 descended, and found herself in the arms, so 
 to speak, of a tall young man, with red 
 whiskers, who bent forward a very small 
 head at the end of a very long neck. 
 
 "Wait, take this, and this, and this, and 
 the basket. Oh ! hold on, there are still 
 the rugs, have you got them? That's 
 all ! " 
 
 Madame Markof advanced, empty-handed, 
 towards a heavy calash which awaited her in 
 a corner of the yard. She took her place 
 and arranged her innumerable packages in 
 good order. After which, " Well, come, get
 
 236 DO SI A' S DAUGHTER. 
 
 in ! " said she to Agnes, who was wondering 
 where she could place herself without sitting 
 on something. 
 
 "Where?" asked the young girl, very 
 sedately. Madame Markof looked at her in 
 astonishment; then perceived that it was 
 indeed impossible for her to find room upon 
 the cushions. Then there began a general 
 upsetting; all the parcels were shifted about 
 without improving the situation. 
 
 At last, by dint of jamming the soft ob- 
 jects and piling up the hard ones, a space 
 about three inches square was triumphantly 
 pointed out to Agnes. Fortunately she was 
 slender, and managed to install herself by 
 secretly pushing back some of the harder 
 packages which were sticking into her sides. 
 
 " I wonder what she is carrying that has so 
 many sharp corners," thought Agnes, when 
 the tall young man said, piteously : 
 
 "Well, mamma, and I?" 
 
 "You? Why, beside the driver."
 
 AT SERVICE. 237 
 
 " There is a trunk," groaned the little head 
 at the end of the long neck. 
 
 "A trunk, what trunk? I didn't bring 
 any trunk." 
 
 " It is mine," said Agnes, truly ashamed at 
 having such an inconvenient trunk. 
 
 " Ah ! yes. Well, Mittia, can't you put it 
 under your feet?" 
 
 "Very willingly if I can," added Mittia, 
 prudently. 
 
 He made the attempt with very good 
 grace, and was soon perched, with his chin 
 on his knees, in a position as impossible to 
 describe as to preserve. 
 
 " All right ! go on," said Madame Markof to 
 the driver, who had not stirred, and whose 
 calm was something surprising in the midst 
 of all this bustle. 
 
 He was quiet because he was very deaf, as 
 Agnes soon perceived, for he remained as in- 
 different to his mistress's order as to the fore- 
 going clatter; but Mittia touched him, he shook
 
 238 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 the reins, and the vehicle moved off. Then 
 Madame Markof perceived that she had 
 omitted a formality, and, pointing at Mittia, 
 perched on the trunk : 
 
 " He is my son," cried she, in Agnes's ear, 
 for the rattling of the calash necessitated an 
 unusual diapason. 
 
 Agnes nodded and remained silent ; it was 
 the best she could do. After two hours and a 
 half over a passable road the calash stopped 
 before a low house. A dirty little servant, 
 wearing a sort of jacket of a remarkably light 
 brown, even by candle-light, came to open 
 the carriage door and let down the step. They 
 had some trouble in releasing Mittia, who was 
 almost anchylosed upon Mademoiselle Titof's 
 trunk, and the packages were then handed, one 
 by one, to two maids, who disposed of them 
 with incredible celerity. Meanwhile Agnes 
 waited until they should attend to her. At 
 last Madame Markof, having made certain, by 
 two investigations, that nothing remained in
 
 AT SERVICE. 239 
 
 the calash, alighted, and requested the young 
 girl to follow her. 
 
 They entered a room, quite large, but very 
 low-studded, where an old gentleman, seated 
 at a table, was reading an old Russian re- 
 view, and a young girl, tall, dark, and bony, 
 was preparing tea. 
 
 "What do you think I have brought you?" 
 asked Madame Markof, in a bewitching tone, 
 as if about to announce a pleasant surprise. 
 
 "Some little cakes ?" asked old Markof. 
 
 " No ! a new governess ! " and, standing 
 aside, she revealed Agnes. 
 
 " Oh ! " said Miss Seraphine, disdainfully ; 
 " only that ! " 
 
 Agnes felt a blush rise to her cheeks, and, 
 stepping forward, replied : 
 
 " I hope, mademoiselle, that before long 
 you will take me for something." 
 
 Seraphine, who was by no means an angel, 
 looked askance upon her, and betook herself 
 again to her teapot.
 
 240 DO SI A' S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Welcome, miss," said the kindly old man. 
 " You must be weary. Sit down ; lay aside 
 your cloak, and take a cup of tea." 
 
 Agnes, touched by this gentleness, obeyed 
 in silence, and sat down, near the old gentle- 
 man, in the place he had indicated to her. 
 
 " Bless me ! how pretty she is ! " said 
 Mittia, who had just entered the room, 
 half out loud. 
 
 His mother made a warning sign to him, 
 and his sister stuck her tongue out at him, 
 after which they all began drinking tea. 
 
 While Agnes was thoughtfully going through 
 with this operation, she recalled the exact 
 words of the telegram which she had sent to 
 her parents before starting : 
 
 Dear Parents, found good situation in respectable 
 house. Do not be anxious; I shall be happy.
 
 AT SOUR OVA. 241 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 AT SOUROVA. 
 
 "\\ THEN the carriages stopped before the 
 * * porch, on the return from the dinner 
 at General Baranine's, Dosia alighted with 
 some haste. Without appearing to do so 
 she had reflected a great deal since morn- 
 ing, and had regretted her imprudent man- 
 ner towards Agnes; she now realized how 
 her severity must have chilled the young 
 heart whose effort at submission merited a 
 better reception. 
 
 Full of tenderness and forgiveness she 
 sought her daughter's room ; the lamp was 
 burning on the table where Agnes had left 
 it; there were no signs of disorder or pre- 
 cipitation, and yet something chilled Dosia's 
 heart as she entered.
 
 242 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 "Where is Miss Agnes?" asked she of 
 the maid who appeared. 
 
 " I don't know, madame," replied the girl ; 
 " we have not seen her since dinner." 
 
 Agnes was in the habit of taking long 
 walks alone, and they were never disturbed 
 at her absence; but, at this hour almost 
 ten o'clock in the evening it was strange 
 that she should not be in-doors. 
 
 " You had better call from the terrace," 
 said Madame Sourof, with a shade of anxi- 
 ety. 
 
 The maid left the room hastily, and there 
 soon sounded without, the blast of a shep- 
 herd's horn, that they called the horn of Uri, 
 brought back sometime from a tour in 
 Switzerland, and which was used when they 
 wished to collect the family, scattered in the 
 forest. The hoarse, deep sound died away 
 in the light, transparent mist, awaking dis- 
 tant echoes. Dosia, still wearing her carriage 
 cloak, went out to the veranda, her ears
 
 AT SOUROVA. 243 
 
 intent to catch the cry, the customary re- 
 sponse to this summons ; in the deep calm 
 of this still night the least sound must reach 
 very far from the terrace, situated high above 
 the circling woods. 
 
 The brook warbled in the glen over 
 the pebbles which checked its way; but no 
 other sound could be heard. The horn of 
 Uri sounded a second time, so loudly that 
 Dosia quivered. The prolonged call went 
 beyond the hills, even to the depths of the 
 great forest; echoes answered from all 
 directions, some feeble and quite near, others 
 distant and very powerful ; the air seemed to 
 quiver for some time after the sounds had 
 died away. All the family had silently 
 gathered around Dosia, except the father, 
 who had, on arriving, gone directly to his 
 study. They said nothing; all listened. The 
 whiteness of the valley seemed sinister; Er- 
 mile felt suddenly as though this mist was 
 a shroud. The horn gave yet another blast,
 
 244 DOSIA' S DAUGHTER, 
 
 so loud that Nicolas thought involuntarily of 
 the horn of Roland, broken with his last call. 
 
 " My daughter ! " murmured Dosia, press- 
 ing a nervous hand to her heart. 
 
 Platon appeared on the threshold of the 
 drawing-room, with a paper in his hand. 
 
 "Don't wait," said he; "she is gone! I 
 hope she is well and safe somewhere." 
 
 Without speaking a word they went into 
 the house and remained standing around the 
 father, whose face expressed grief and 
 sternness. 
 
 " She tells me of her departure," said he, 
 gravely; "she means well, I am sure; her 
 intentions are honorable, but but she did 
 not think enough of the grief she was caus- 
 ing us " 
 
 His voice was broken, as he pronounced 
 these last words. Dosia threw herself sobbing 
 on her husband's breast. 
 
 "It is my fault," murmured she, in a low 
 voice. Platon pressed his wife firmly against
 
 AT SOUROVA. 245 
 
 his heart. Vera and Nicolas burst into 
 tears. Ermile, very pale, looked fixedly 
 before him without seeing anything. He 
 would willingly have thrown himself at the 
 feet of her parents, and said also, " It is my 
 fault!" 
 
 After the first troubled moments they sat 
 down to take counsel. 
 
 Mademoiselle Titof, who had been to ex- 
 amine the fugitive's room, to make sure that 
 she had left no trace, returned in confusion. 
 
 " I cannot find my passport," said she. 
 
 " Then I understand," said Platon. " Her 
 plan is well conceived, and proves that she 
 was complete mistress of herself. But the 
 precaution that she has taken to insure her- 
 self a means of honorable existence is ex- 
 actly what will enable us to find her. God 
 be praised, my dear wife ! Our daughter cer- 
 tainly causes us great grief, but she gives us 
 no cause to blush for her." 
 
 " She must be sought for and found at
 
 246 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 once," cried Nicolas. " With her passport 
 that cannot be difficult ! " 
 
 " She must be found, certainly," said the 
 father ; " but I don't think it advisable to make 
 her come back against her will. Let her learn 
 a little of life ; it will be an excellent lesson 
 to her ; for, observe it well, my children," con- 
 tinued he, turning towards his son and daugh- 
 ter, "we are now more disposed to pity than 
 to blame her, but she is very guilty and 
 ought to suffer. I hope that fate will teach 
 her, and that she will return to us more sub- 
 missive." 
 
 They dispersed very sadly, and Dosia passed 
 the night in bitter tears. What her husband 
 said to console her, or to take upon himself 
 a just share of the responsibility, has remained 
 a secret between them; but she certainly re- 
 ceived an important lesson in life, for in the 
 following days she appeared more indulgent 
 and more tender. Vera was much surprised 
 at it; but, as she was a good and intelligent
 
 AT SOUROVA. 247 
 
 child, she gave her heart to her mother more 
 completely than she had ever done before. 
 This mother, with tear-stained eyes, who 
 scarcely ever spoke of her absent daughter, 
 but evidently thought much of that rebellious 
 child, became very dear to her, and the little 
 girl felt that the only way to soothe this 
 terrible wound, always bleeding, was to assure 
 Madame Sourof an absolute tranquillity as to 
 the future of her other daughter. 
 
 Ermile had left the house the morning fol- 
 lowing the fatal day. He was not willing that 
 Agnes should find him there in open dis- 
 obedience to her command, should some un- 
 foreseen circumstance bring her back to the 
 fold. His sister Marie, seeing him so gloomy 
 and troubled, perceived that he reproached 
 himself with something. With a little strategy 
 and much kindness she soon gained his con- 
 fidence, and learned with surprise the decree 
 passed against him, and the submission with 
 which he had accepted it.
 
 248 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " You consented not to see her again ! " said 
 she. "Ah, brother ! you were very wrong. You 
 should have replied : ' Turn your back upon 
 me when I enter, if you wish to ; but I will not 
 renounce my dear friends simply to please 
 you, capricious little creature ! " 
 
 " Marie, perhaps she is suffering " 
 
 "So much the better! It will teach her 
 not to cause others to suffer ! " replied the 
 good girl, with her customary sense. " You 
 will see what good it will bring her ! " 
 
 "What do you advise me to do?" asked 
 Ermile, a little confused. 
 
 "To keep quiet." 
 
 "No! I can't do that." 
 
 Marie looked full into her brother's eyes ; 
 then placing her hands on his shoulders, 
 "You want to go and look for her," said 
 she, with an indulgent smile ; " well, go ! 
 Search, ransack, turn heaven and earth, find 
 her, and when you have found her she will 
 again send you about your business, unless "
 
 AT SOUROVA. 249 
 
 "Unless what?" 
 
 " Unless she falls upon your neck, for she 
 has the best heart in the world ! " concluded 
 Marie. " Come, make haste, brother ; for 
 you see I have more confidence in the scent 
 of a lover than in all the police in the 
 world, and I long to know that she is back 
 at Sourova, until she will come here, where 
 I will receive her as a beloved sister." 
 
 " Ah ! " sighed Ermile, " we have not come 
 to that yet ! When I think of all that might 
 happen to her " 
 
 " To her ! You don't know her ! Unless 
 a chimney falls upon her some windy day 
 I assure you that no harm will be able to 
 reach her. She is a young person who 
 knows what she is about, although she does 
 not always know what she wishes. When I 
 think of her stealing worthy Mademoiselle 
 Titof's passport and perhaps her trunk! 
 I would undergo a good deal to see her in 
 Mademoiselle Titofs dresses, teaching the
 
 250 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 history of Russia to a little brat, it would 
 be such fun ! " 
 
 Marie burst out laughing, wiping her eyes, 
 and Ermile went to prepare for his depart- 
 ure. 
 
 Platon had gone to Moscow the very next 
 day, and there had set in motion everything 
 necessary to discover the fugitive ; but the 
 peculiar circumstances which prevented the 
 name of Agnes's passport from appearing on 
 the hotel register paralyzed all search. It 
 would have been otherwise had she not left 
 Moscow ; as things actually were, search was 
 almost impossible. 
 
 Agnes's telegram was received with great 
 joy by all the family. It was then true? 
 She wished to become familiar with a life of 
 labor? Her love for her parents had not 
 been lessened by the test? 
 
 " O God ! " thought Dosia, wiping away 
 tears less bitter than any she had shed since 
 her daughter's departure, " if she would but
 
 AT SOUROVA, 251 
 
 return ! I should know how to teach the dear 
 child her duty without wounding her sensitive 
 heart. It will be a hard lesson for her, but 
 certainly more so for me ! " 
 
 The customary routine of life at Sourova 
 had been resumed. Mademoiselle Titof had 
 abandoned the thought of her journey to 
 Moscow until the passport should be returned 
 to her. When she went to find her trunk, 
 still at the station, as she supposed, she 
 learned that it had taken the road to Nijni 
 Novgorod with its pseudo-proprietor. 
 
 " How well managed ! " cried that excel- 
 lent person. " What a pity that I had not 
 placed in it my best clothes!" and she again 
 betook herself to initiating Vera into the 
 mysteries of orthography.
 
 252 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 TEACHING OF EVERY KIND. 
 
 \ ONES had not paused a moment to con- 
 "* ^- sider the unpleasant side of her under- 
 taking; she had, as they say, taken the bull 
 by the horns. The day after her arrival at the 
 Markofs she made a thorough examination 
 of Seraphine, who, in spite of her evident dis- 
 inclination, was obliged to answer the questions, 
 and thus showed that she knew almost nothing. 
 
 "There is no merit," Agnes told herself, " in 
 educating an amiable and intelligent girl ; 
 with this pupil I shall be able to show that I 
 have the patience as well as the faculties 
 necessary to a pedagogue." 
 
 A Russian proverb says that " a new broom 
 always sweeps best." This irreverent compari- 
 son is as apt for the scholars as for teachers. 
 Seraphine's broom was not especially supple ;
 
 TEACHING OF EVERY KIND, 253 
 
 however, it swept her young brain quite well 
 during five or six days ; and the new govern- 
 ess was able to use her own little brush in 
 carefully dusting the newly-sharpened facets 
 of her knowledge, so that they glistened like 
 diamonds. 
 
 The lessons were held in a school-room, as 
 scantily furnished as a room used only for 
 study could be. It was cold and damp. Agnes 
 felt her aristocratic feet, accustomed to rest on 
 carpets, or at least mattings, grow cold at 
 the contact with a rough wooden floor, care- 
 lessly washed by the servants, and left to itself 
 to dry, which it, by no means, succeeded in 
 doing. 
 
 The food especially caused the young girl 
 unspeakable surprise. The day after her arri- 
 val being Sunday, she attributed the scanty 
 lunch to an estimable piety, which did not 
 compel the servants to work during the hours 
 for services. The dinner consisted of a soup, 
 mainly hot water and half-melted fat; then a
 
 254 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 prodigious roast of beef, so large that Agnes 
 could not repress an exclamation. 
 
 " Ah ! you didn't have any like that with the 
 Sourofs?" said Madame Markof, triumphantly. 
 
 Agnes frowned ; but, soon recollecting that 
 she was not now the daughter of Colonel 
 Platon, she replied, with a more engaging air, 
 " I confess it. The meat was very good ; but 
 the roasts were not as large." 
 
 Madame Markof buried a great knife in the 
 mountain of bleeding meat with the gesture of 
 a sacrificing priest. The juice ran into the 
 platter, and the victim was deprived of several 
 slices too enormous to be appetizing. How- 
 ever, the meat was good, and Agnes reconciled 
 herself to the roast beef, especially on seeing 
 some fine, savory potatoes brought in, still 
 clothed with floury coats, which attested their 
 excellent quality. 
 
 "We live in the English style here," said 
 Madame Markof, "and it suits us very well." 
 
 A pretentious and not very good dessert
 
 TEACHING OF EVERY KIND. 255 
 
 terminated the feast, with which Agnes found 
 herself tolerably well satisfied. It was not the 
 delicate fare of her home, but it was some- 
 thing to live upon ; and the young girl ac- 
 cepted all the accidents of the existence which 
 she had voluntarily chosen. 
 
 The next day, at lunch, she sa.w upon the 
 table the roast of the night before, which the 
 breach made by the dinner did not appear to 
 have perceptibly diminished. The same knife 
 was plunged into the same meat, equally large 
 slices were distributed, the potatoes again 
 appeared, and all was ended, without dessert 
 this time. 
 
 Agnes did not dislike cold meat; she also 
 approved of this system of domestic economy, 
 especially as, after two successive appearances, 
 the roast must probably pass on to the 
 kitchen, to the great joy of the servants. 
 But at dinner-time the roast beef was again 
 upon the table, where it would seem it had 
 chosen to reside ; only the platter was smaller.
 
 256 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 The next day at lunch, and at dinner, it still 
 remained, although very much attenuated ; the 
 next morning, which was Wednesday, there 
 remained only a very small, dry piece; and, 
 as they did not receive it very cordially, the 
 little piece reappeared almost intact at dinner. 
 That day Agnes ate only potatoes, for the 
 greasy, tasteless soup made her sick at her 
 stomach. 
 
 The following morning there was nothing 
 on the table at the hour for lunch. Madame 
 Markof entered in morning wrapper and 
 slippers. " The meat has not arrived," said 
 she ; " we shall have to lunch upon the oat- 
 meal, but it doesn't matter for once only." 
 
 A great dish of oatmeal was brought, to- 
 gether with a bowl of milk. Agnes did not 
 care much for oatmeal, except that it was 
 better than cold roast for four entire days. 
 
 " At any rate," sighed she, " we shall have 
 something new this evening ! " She was not 
 an epicure, and at home was the very last to
 
 TEACHING OF EVERY KIND. 2$? 
 
 trouble herself as to what constituted the fare ; 
 but the uniform diet which had existed since 
 her entrance into this house inspired her 
 with some curiosity as to the probable bill 
 of fare for this day. 
 
 After the soup had been removed the 
 servant entered, bending beneath the weight 
 of an enormous dish, which Agnes at once 
 recognized; he approached, staggering, and 
 deposited upon the table a magnificent roast of 
 beef, so entirely resembling its predecessor that 
 Agnes had to call on her memory in order to 
 be sure that she was not dreaming, and that 
 the day was really Thursday, not Sunday. 
 
 The potatoes entered, large and smoking, 
 in a deep dish, and her three table companions 
 expressed an unequivocal delight at the sight 
 of this substantial repast. 
 
 When one has eaten cold roast for three 
 days, hot roast has certainly some chance of 
 success on the fourth. But, on leaving the 
 table, Agnes felt a desire to improve her knowl-
 
 2$8 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 edge. She was a person of very orderly mind, 
 and loved to lay foundations for the future. 
 
 " Do you often eat roast beef? " she asked 
 her young pupil. 
 
 Seraphine looked at her in astonishment. 
 
 "What! what did you ask me?" replied 
 she, as though she had not understood. 
 
 " I asked if you often eat roast beef." 
 
 " Why always," was the answer, with an 
 amazed air. 
 
 "Always? The whole year?" exclaimed 
 Agnes, no less astonished. 
 
 " Why, certainly." 
 
 " Warm twice a week, and cold the rest of 
 the time?" 
 
 " Naturally ! What did you eat, then, where 
 you used to be?" 
 
 " A great many good things, of which you 
 will never have an idea," replied Agnes, com- 
 posedly. Seraphine looked askance at her, 
 then turned away. Up to that time they had 
 been upon a footing of armed neutrality ; from
 
 TEACHING OF EVERY KIND. 
 
 that day it was open war ; the second roast beef 
 of the week had been the signal for hostilities. 
 
 The next day Seraphine did not know her 
 lessons, which was not extraordinary; but she 
 gave evidences of an ill-humor which Agnes 
 had not seen before. The little girl's state of 
 mind showed itself in a cross indifference to 
 everything which did not contribute to her 
 immediate pleasure. 
 
 "You must learn your lesson in play-hours," 
 said the young governess. 
 
 " I ? that has never happened ! Find some 
 other way, miss," answered the rebellious 
 pupil. Agnes was about to reply sharply, 
 when her malicious memory caused her to 
 blush. Had she not formerly made an exactly 
 similar response to the governess who pre- 
 ceded Mademoiselle Titof in their house, 
 a poor girl, who, tired out, had given it up, 
 not feeling strong enough to cope with so 
 formidable an antagonist? 
 
 " I have well deserved it," thought Agnes.
 
 260 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 However, as power must remain with authority, 
 Agnes went to ask Madame Markof what she 
 should do when Seraphine did not know hef 
 lessons. 
 
 " But, miss, that is your affair ! It is pre- 
 cisely to relieve myself of that trouble that 
 I employ you." 
 
 "But, madame, Seraphine will not admit 
 that she is to learn during play-hours the 
 lessons which she has not prepared in the 
 school-time." 
 
 " Well, the child is right ! She must have 
 her recreation ! " 
 
 Agnes returned to her room to try and 
 fathom the situation, which seemed deep in- 
 deed. Her apartment was as cold and damp 
 as the school-room ; she left it and went to 
 the drawing-room, which was quite well heated, 
 and sat down close to a window, taking up a 
 book as a pretext. 
 
 In a few minutes her attention was attracted 
 by a sort of sigh or moan. Thinking that a
 
 TEACHING OF EVERY KIND. 261 
 
 dog had found its way into the house, and 
 foreseeing trouble for the poor thing when 
 discovered by Madame Markof, Agnes bent 
 down and looked under the lounge, the chairs, 
 and the table, as its short cloth left its legs 
 visible; but no quadruped was to be seen. 
 
 Thinking she had been mistaken, she re- 
 turned again to her book, or rather to her 
 meditations ; but a second piteously modulated 
 sigh caused her a second time to raise her 
 head. 
 
 She then saw, opposite her, stretched in 
 an arm-chair, the ill-shaped figure of Mittia, 
 whose protruding eyes contemplated her with 
 a gaze of ecstasy. Agnes turned away her 
 face impatiently. She had previously noticed 
 the young man's marked attention, and was 
 not pleased by it, but she trusted that he 
 would be polite enough not to become trouble- 
 some. The two sighs which she had just 
 heard deprived her of this hope. Despair- 
 ing of finding in the drawing-room the peace
 
 262 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 which she sought, Agnes rose to return to 
 her own room. 
 
 " O miss, don't run away from me ! " 
 murmured young Mittia's mournful voice. 
 
 Agnes turned around suddenly, thoroughly 
 angry. "Run away from you, sir?" said she. 
 " In order to do that I should first be obliged 
 to notice that you were present ! " 
 
 " Oh-o-oh ! " drawled the unhappy young 
 man ; " you are as cruel as you are beau- 
 tiful." 
 
 Agnes shrugged her shoulders and advanced 
 towards the door. All at once Mittia leaped 
 from his chair with a rapidity which one would 
 not have anticipated from his languid voice. 
 
 " Miss," said he, extending his arms so as 
 to bar her way, " you must listen to me." 
 
 His prominent eyes, his little mouth, and 
 thin, red whiskers gave him a puppet-like 
 appearance, rendered all the more absurd 
 by his ridiculous gestures. Agnes would have 
 laughed had she not been very angry.
 
 TEACHING OF EVERY KIND. 263 
 
 " You are unhappy here, miss," continued 
 Mittia, rolling up his eyeballs despairingly ; 
 "you don't eat; you don't like cold roast 
 beef, oh ! I have seen it. I observe 
 everything you do. My sister is a dunce, 
 and my mother has just treated you un- 
 kindly." 
 
 " Sir ! " interrupted Agnes, provoked. 
 
 "Don't get angry," replied he, with an en- 
 treating gesture, and an infinite gentleness in 
 his voice. " You will find out many other 
 things. It always commences well enough 
 here, but it always ends badly." 
 
 "Badly? What do you mean?" asked Ag- 
 nes, somewhat frightened, in spite of her 
 courage. 
 
 " They go away," sighed the unfortunate 
 youth. " They all go away, and abandon, rne 
 to my bitter and desolate solitude." 
 
 " He must have something the matter with 
 his brain," thought Agnes, with a strong 
 inclination to laugh.
 
 264 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Madame Markof's morning-dress appeared 
 in the corridor, but hid itself behind a ward- 
 robe. 
 
 " The truth is, that the house is not cheer- 
 ful," continued Mittia, in a less poetic tone. 
 " But, if you wished, one could manage not 
 to have it too tedious. A walk in the moon- 
 light, do you like moonlight walks?" 
 
 " I should not like them in your com- 
 pany," said Agnes, disdainfully. 
 
 "Oh! I? Never! It gives me the tooth- 
 ache to walk out at night, except in summer 
 when it is very warm, and the season is gone 
 by for this year. But there are a thousand 
 ways of meeting Miss, I love you ! " 
 
 " And I don't love you," replied Agnes. 
 " Will you allow me to pass, if you please ? " 
 
 " You must pay toll ! " said Mittia, open- 
 ing his arms wider and extending his cheek, 
 probably with the intention of receiving a 
 kiss. 
 
 " What strange governesses they must have
 
 TEACHING OF EVERY KIND. 26$ 
 
 had here ! " thought the young girl. But she 
 had no desire to quarrel with this half-witted 
 creature, whose brain must have been sub- 
 jected to some serious shock. Instead of 
 parleying she stooped quickly, passed under 
 his outstretched arms, and found herself out- 
 side the door. 
 
 " Oh ! how clever you are ! " cried Mittia, 
 delighted. " It is a pleasure to deal with 
 one so spirited ! But I will catch you ! " 
 
 Madame Markof's morning-dress made a 
 retreat, and Agnes was certain that the 
 worthy mother had seen all. 
 
 " What a mother ! " thought she, with an 
 invincible disgust. " The son is only a sim- 
 pleton; but the woman who allows such 
 things in her house " 
 
 A strong desire to leave this house had 
 suddenly taken possession of her; if she had 
 followed her inclination she would have at 
 once demanded her passport, which Madame 
 Markof had taken from her, and horses with
 
 266 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 which to reach St. Serge. But a little reflec- 
 tion showed her that this summary proceed- 
 ing after only eight days would make it 
 difficult for her to get a new situation, should 
 inquiries be made. Besides, was it not 
 necessary to learn life? These people were 
 ridiculous and despicable, but they did not 
 seem wicked. In case of need she would 
 address herself to the father, always absent 
 watching his crops, who only returned in 
 time for meals; he at least was gentle and 
 good, and would, if necessary, protect her. 
 
 In the school-room Agnes again found Sera- 
 phine, who did not seem to have nursed any 
 animosity on account of the scene in the 
 morning. The young governess knew that it 
 was good policy not to revive dangerous 
 remembrances, and assumed a quiet face. 
 
 "We will have a good exercise in dictation, 
 Seraphine," she said to her. The little girl 
 shook her head with an important air, bal- 
 ancing herself on the hind legs of her chair,
 
 TEACHING OF EVERY KIND. 267 
 
 in a way to cause anxiety for her equilib- 
 rium. 
 
 " I don't do any work to-day," she said. 
 " Mamma has given me a holiday ! " 
 
 "A holiday! In honor of what saint?" 
 asked Agnes, somewhat surprised. 
 
 " There is no saint in the matter. I have a 
 holiday because I asked for it." 
 
 " That cannot be ! " 
 
 " Ask mamma, then ! " replied Seraphine, 
 balancing herself so as to make Agnes dizzy. 
 It was, indeed, necessary to do so. The young 
 girl went to Madame Markof, who confirmed 
 what her child said. 
 
 " It is exactly so, mademoiselle. I granted 
 it because she asked it. But that displeases 
 me greatly, and I beg you henceforth to 
 manage so that it may not occur again." 
 
 " Pardon, madame," said Agnes ; " I hardly 
 understand you. What do you wish me to 
 do?" 
 
 " I wish you to prevent my daughter from
 
 268 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 asking me for holidays. It interferes with 
 her studies, and does her no good." 
 
 " In that case, madame, if you would con- 
 sent to refuse her request." 
 
 " Not at all, miss. Every time she asks 
 me I shall grant it her. There is nothing 
 in the world worse than to hear a child 
 tease you for hours ; and Seraphine is 
 very persistent. When once she has taken 
 a thing into her head one can't turn her 
 from it. Therefore, I find it much better to 
 yield at once, you know." 
 
 " I realize that it annoys you, madame," 
 answered Agnes, making an effort to keep 
 her countenance in the face of this odd 
 reasoning. " But I don't see exactly what 
 you want me to do." 
 
 "Why! you don't understand? I thought 
 you were clever; you look it! I wish you 
 to prevent my daughter from asking me " 
 
 " What she is sure of obtaining when she 
 asks?"
 
 TEACHING OF EVERY KIND. 269 
 
 Madame Markof remained a moment con- 
 fused. " In short," replied she, impatiently, 
 " manage to do what I tell you. I have en- 
 trusted you with authority; it is for you to 
 show yourself worthy of it 1 " 
 
 Upon that she left the room with the air 
 of an empress. 
 
 Agnes returned to the school-room in a 
 very troubled state of mind. Her reason re- 
 fused to admit the absurdity of Madame 
 Markof's proposition. She preferred to believe 
 in a lack of attention on her own part rather 
 than in such utter nonsense. 
 
 " She did not explain herself clearly," 
 thought the girl. " We shall understand each 
 other better by and by." 
 
 Seraphine grew weary of being idle ; the 
 rain beat against the windows, forbidding all 
 thoughts of a walk. Agnes thought it a favor- 
 able opportunity to try an attractive system 
 of instruction which she had been meditating; 
 and, thanks to the child's want of something
 
 2/0 DOSIA^S DAUGHTER. 
 
 to do, she succeeded in occupying her for 
 a couple of hours, winning her point while 
 seeming to play with her. Seraphine, who 
 was not a fool, understood all the ad- 
 vantage to be gained from so entertaining an 
 instructress, and, at the close of the day, peace 
 and harmony again reigned in the school- 
 room. 
 
 " Were it not for that imbecile Mittia," 
 thought Agnes, " I am sure one could make 
 an interesting experiment here. Bah ! per- 
 haps even he can at last be muzzled ! " 
 
 Happy privilege of youth ! A ray of sun 
 is seen, and the storm is forgotten. Agnes 
 went to sleep that evening in an excellent 
 frame of mind, although the cold roast beef 
 had again appeared at dinner.
 
 A NEW EXPERIMENT. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A NEW EXPERIMENT. 
 
 1 "\OGS are muzzled, also bears ; but how 
 *-"^ muzzle a calfs-head, boneless, and 
 cooked to a turn? Mittia's character, as well 
 as his person, was so mucilaginous that one 
 could give it no form nor impose upon 
 it any restraint. His sighs, less harmonious 
 but as confused as the sounds of an aeolian 
 harp, pursued Agnes in all parts of the house. 
 It was in vain that she attached no impor- 
 tance to it; this plaint, like the whinings of 
 a puppy, wearied Agnes exceedingly. The 
 young man's glances amused her no more ; 
 she had tried in vain to laugh at the matter ; 
 her realization of the baseness of Madame 
 Markof, who allowed it, because it was a pas- 
 time for her son, took away all her amusement 
 at this ridiculous incident.
 
 2/2 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Fine weather had returned out of doors, 
 with warm, clear days ; but within the Markof 
 mansion the barometer seemed to indicate a 
 storm. Agnes had sought in vain for a little 
 moral support from the elder Markof; she 
 soon perceived that the worthy man had long 
 since abdicated, " for the sake of peace." 
 Madame Markof had replied to a slight allu- 
 sion from Agnes, that it was of the first 
 importance to a young girl not to be prudish. 
 Besides, from her point of view, the most 
 desirable trait in a person was always that for 
 which they had need at the moment. 
 
 Seraphine had enjoyed the attractive work 
 for several days, but became tired of it, as 
 of all else; for she hated every exertion, even 
 were it to procure herself a pleasure. The 
 fifth roast of beef had appeared on the family 
 table. Agnes reckoned the time by roasts of 
 beef, which made it now fifteen whole days 
 that she had spent in this original household. 
 Either owing to the influence of cold meat, or
 
 A NEW EXPERIMENT. 2/3 
 
 * 
 
 to that of the sirocco, Agnes was nervous 
 that day, and Seraphine not less so. 
 
 " Miss, I love you ! " Mittia had murmured, 
 in the morning, while taking his coffee. " I 
 love you more than ever ! If you will con- 
 sent, we will fly together ! You have a family? 
 Let us go to them ! We will marry, and shall 
 be far better off than here." 
 
 Oh ! yes, it was far better at Sourova ! That 
 was certain ! Agnes thought, with unspeak- 
 able regret, of the autumn-tinted forest; of the 
 rippling brook, of the fragrant terrace, which 
 the early frosts respected, so warm and 
 sheltered was the situation. She thought 
 of the grand piano, formerly touched by her 
 agile fingers ; of Vera, who must find it dull ; 
 of Mademoiselle Titof, who had not been 
 able to visit her uncle for want of a passport ; 
 of her mother, 
 
 Her mother ! She dared not think of her ! 
 She recoiled before the dear remembrance, 
 which was now a remorse. She felt con-
 
 2/4 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 fusedly that her father, however afflicted he 
 might be, would be better able to sustain the 
 blow than her mother. 
 
 She had hardened herself since her de- 
 parture, to avoid thinking of this dear, blessed 
 home where dwelt happiness and duty, in- 
 separable from one another. She had in vain 
 created for herself false duties, false respon- 
 sibilities, artificial conventionalities, an ideal 
 vocation ; she had only succeeded in accumu- 
 lating upon her shoulders burden after burden, 
 without finding again any of the joys which 
 had formerly rendered her duties so light. 
 
 " Fool that I was ! " said Agnes to herself, 
 looking over the barren, monotonous land- 
 scape, crossed by the highway. " I thought my- 
 self the centre of the world, and I am not even 
 a useful wheel in this social machinery where 
 I cannot find a place. I am good for nothing ! 
 I know nothing, although I have learned so 
 many things, and I shall know nothing until I 
 have learned to bend myself to discipline."
 
 A NEW EXPERIMENT. 2?$ 
 
 It was a great point to have acknowledged 
 the truth ; but Agnes was hardly able to feel 
 it. Her tears fell, and she did not know that 
 she was weeping ; the old leaven of pride was 
 melting away in a deep emotion of repentance. 
 How gladly she would now have fallen at the 
 feet of those whom she formerly considered 
 unjust, if she had thought she could obtain 
 forgiveness ! 
 
 Mittia's plaintive voice sounded somewhere 
 in the house. Agnes repressed a movement 
 of impatience. 
 
 This was what she had gained by banishing 
 Ermile, the noble and courageous Ermile, who 
 loved her in spite of her faults, and knew how 
 to tell her of it ! She had bartered the 
 friend of her youth, worthy to be that of her 
 whole life, for a plaintive, ridiculous lover, 
 whose sighs would have been offensive but 
 that they were beneath all notice. 
 
 " O mother ! " thought Agnes, while tears fell 
 upon her hands like beads from a chaplet;
 
 2/6 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " my good mother, my noble father, my dear 
 Ermile, how I love you all! Yes, I love and 
 bless you in the midst of trouble which I 
 have brought upon myself. And how eagerly 
 would I go to you if I thought you would 
 welcome me ! " 
 
 It was not the dread of reproaches which 
 now held Agnes back : it was the fear lest 
 they should not be willing to receive her at 
 the hearth which she had deserted. 
 
 "Aunt Sophie! " thought the young girl all 
 at once. " Wisdom and goodness personified ! 
 She is the one who will give me assistance; 
 it is through her that I will implore forgive- 
 ness from those whom I have so cruelly 
 offended ! " 
 
 She hastened to the school-room, to write 
 the letter which should prepare her aunt for 
 her arrival. While she was searching in her 
 portfolio for a sheet of paper the voice of 
 Madame Markof sounded on the threshold : 
 
 " How is this, miss, did I not forbid
 
 A NEW EXPERIMENT. 277 
 
 you to allow Seraphine to ask me for a 
 holiday? " 
 
 " Yes, madame," replied Agnes, raising her 
 head. 
 
 "Well, and what has she just done?" 
 
 " I do not know, madame. She said that 
 she was going to say good-morning to you." 
 
 " Exactly ! While saying good-morning to 
 me she asked me for a holiday, and I granted 
 it to her ! You knew, however, that it was not 
 to happen again ! " 
 
 "Yes, madame, you told me so," answered 
 Agnes, firmly. " But, in order that I may be 
 able to obey you, you will have to authorize 
 me not to send Seraphine to you to say good- 
 morning." 
 
 ' But I am very particular that she shall 
 bid me good-morning! Deprive myself of 
 the caresses of my child ! That is, indeed, 
 a strange idea ! " 
 
 " In that case," said Agnes, who could 
 hardly restrain herself, " I am powerless to
 
 2/8 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 prevent her from asking you whatever she 
 wishes to ! " 
 
 " It is because you don't know your busi- 
 ness ! I wish, understand, I wish to have 
 Seraphine see me whenever she desires to 
 do so, and I forbid you that she shall ask 
 for holidays ! " 
 
 " Your expression is not correct, madame," 
 said Agnes, 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "No, it is not correct, either from a gram- 
 matical or common-sense point of view." 
 
 " Impertinent ! " cried Madame Markof. 
 
 " Your ill-opinion cannot injure me, ma- 
 dame," replied Agnes, suddenly feeling herself 
 again the daughter of Platon Sourof. " I will 
 leave your house. Will you be kind enough to 
 provide a carriage to take me to St. Serge ? " 
 
 " You ? By no means ! I am satisfied 
 with your services, though you don't know 
 how to command obedience, and I shall keep 
 you."
 
 A NEW EXPERIMENT. 279 
 
 "Against my will?" 
 
 " Certainly ! I shall not give you back 
 your passport. What can you do without a 
 passport? " 
 
 At this Agnes burst into a hearty laugh. 
 For the first time since her departure the fa- 
 mous passport was of no consequence to her. 
 She thought of the trunk, Mademoiselle Titofs 
 precious trunk, from which she had taken 
 only a little linen, having opened it with a 
 key found by chance. She was then rid of 
 the trunk and the passport at the same time ! 
 What a figure these good people would pre- 
 sent when summoned to give up these two 
 articles, unduly retained ! 
 
 Madame Markof could not suspect the 
 thoughts of fun which were dancing through 
 the head of her governess. Seeing her 
 breathless with laughter, she thought her in 
 hysterics, and hastened to bring her a glass 
 of water. 
 
 She had no sooner left the school-room
 
 280 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 than Mittia glided in. Agnes, sitting down, 
 continued to laugh, in spite of her efforts to 
 stop. Her handkerchief at her mouth, she 
 now and then calmed herself, then burst 
 out more violently, as a new comic phase of 
 the difficulty presented itself to her. The 
 sight of Mittia was not fitted to diminish 
 her hilarity, and, as he regarded her tenderly, 
 she could not restrain herself. Burying her 
 face in her handkerchief she laughed till she 
 cried. It was too good an opportunity; 
 Mittia could not resist. With all the grace 
 he could command he bent towards the 
 young girl, and advanced his lips to kiss 
 her. 
 
 But Agnes had felt his red whiskers tickle 
 her ear; her movement was quicker than his 
 thought; and, just as Madame Markof entered 
 with a glass of water, the fingers of her gov- 
 erness gave her son's cheek a resounding slap. 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Mittia, dumfounded, raising 
 his hand to his cheek.
 
 A NEW EXPERIMENT. 28 1 
 
 "Miss Agnes! It is unheard of! To strike 
 my son ! " exclaimed Madame Markof, spill- 
 ing the water upon her dress, in her indig- 
 nation. 
 
 " It would be better to kiss him, I sup- 
 pose?" replied Agnes. "Come, madame, will 
 you let me have a carriage ? " 
 
 " No ! no ! no ! " shrieked Madame Markof, 
 wiping away with her handkerchief, mean- 
 while, the water which ran down her dress. 
 
 " It is all one to me then. I will go away 
 on foot." 
 
 "On foot! and your trunk?" 
 
 Agnes began to laugh again, while gather- 
 ing up some few articles which belonged to 
 her. 
 
 " My trunk," said she, " will be sent for. 
 Good-by, madame ! good-by, Mittia ! " 
 
 She disappeared, leaving Madame Markof 
 and her son regarding each other in astonish- 
 ment. Soon after she ran across the garden, 
 clothed in the same gray dress, the same
 
 282 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 cloak, and the same bonnet, covered with the 
 veil, which she had worn when leaving Sourova. 
 The same little bag hung from her hand; 
 only she had, besides, an umbrella, bought at 
 Moscow, which was the only material vestige 
 of her fanciful expedition.
 
 WALKING. 283 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 WALKING. 
 
 FT was a beautiful day, and Agnes's 
 * heart leaped in her breast with joy, when 
 she reached the road leading to St. Serge. 
 The sun shone so brightly, and there was 
 so much freedom in store for the young 
 fugitive ! She felt as though she were issu- 
 ing from a prison where, for an endless time, 
 she had enjoyed neither light nor society. 
 
 " However, they are not monkeys," thought 
 she, laughing ; " but perhaps . monkeys would 
 have been better." 
 
 " Oh-o-oh ! Mittia ! " sighed Agnes, aloud, 
 and then she burst out laughing. 
 
 When one is young and joyous, when the 
 sky is clear and the air fresh, one always 
 commences by walking too fast. At the
 
 284 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 end of a quarter of an hour the traveller's 
 legs were already tired. She had set off 
 at such a quick pace that she thought to 
 reach St. Serge in two hours at the most; 
 but she was soon obliged to stop, seat 
 herself on the wayside on a soft pile of 
 stones which offered her a rest, and con- 
 sider that even at the rate of five versts an 
 hour, which was certainly the maximum of 
 her speed, it would take her four or five 
 full hours. 
 
 This was not very encouraging, although 
 liberty could be bought at this price. Rising, 
 a little stiff, she took a less rapid pace, and 
 her thoughts underwent the same modifica- 
 tion. 
 
 It was an excellent thing to have escaped 
 from slavery; but the days of deliverance 
 have their to-morrows, for individuals as well 
 as for nations, and no one knows how to 
 take advantage of these days if they have not 
 foreseen the consequences.
 
 WALKING. 285 
 
 For Agnes the consequence was a journey 
 to the house of her Aunt Mourief, who must 
 still be occupying her residence at Tsarskoe- 
 Selo. In that case she must go to Peters- 
 burg pass a night in a hotel! 
 
 " Never ! " cried Agnes, out loud. " There 
 are too many beetles ! " 
 
 In vain her reason tried to persuade her 
 that there would probably be fewer in other 
 hotels ; her mind refused to listen. 
 
 " I had rather take the train and pass the 
 night in a railway carriage ! " 
 
 All at once she realized that, unfortunately, 
 her liberty had so far brought her uncomfort- 
 able nights ; and naturally her thoughts flew 
 towards home, where all was so pleasant and 
 comforting to the heart. 
 
 " O mamma ! my sister ! Kola ! " thought 
 she ; " I shall see you again, at last ! My dear 
 ones, it is indeed true that one's joy must be 
 lost in order to realize its value ! " 
 
 While walking she considered that this
 
 2 86 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 truth had been repeated to her a thousand 
 times in conversation and in books, and that 
 she had disregarded it with a sort of disdain, 
 like so many others. Youth does not love 
 established truths, acquired experiences. It 
 admits at first only that which it has itself 
 verified. 
 
 " If it is thus with everything," she said 
 to herself, " I know nothing of life ; I have it 
 all to learn, and it will take a long time ! How 
 foolish and self-conceited I have been ! " 
 
 As these reflections passed, and Agnes 
 walked on, the sun also traversed the sky, the 
 mile-posts succeeded one another, and must 
 we confess it? the young girl became very 
 hungry. The emotions of her breast could 
 not impose silence on the demands of her 
 appetite. 
 
 The road so far had been absolutely bare 
 and deserted. On each side were noble, 
 silent forests, where the bright green moss in 
 the openings indicated an extreme dampness,
 
 WALKING. 287 
 
 excellent for vegetation, but precluding all 
 idea of finding wild fruits especially rare at 
 this season. 
 
 " It is rather hard," thought Agnes ; " one 
 can, it seems, be hungry and unable to 
 procure food, even with money in one's 
 pocket ! I am wrecked on the shores of 
 civilization." 
 
 After a long, tedious walk, the sun indicat- 
 ing almost half-past three, Agnes came at 
 last to a small village. With a confidence 
 inspired by her annual sojourn among the 
 peasants of her father's land whom she 
 loved and who loved her the young girl 
 entered the first house, and asked for bread 
 and milk, offering payment. 
 
 The peasant woman was old and cross. 
 
 " We are not shop-keepers," said she, in a 
 rude tone ; " we don't sell our milk." 
 
 "Then give it to me," replied the girl, 
 good-naturedly. " I will pray to God for 
 you."
 
 288 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 How different she was from the vain 
 Agnes of former times ! Even so few days 
 had already taught her that one gains nothing 
 by being haughty, and that a little good- 
 humor serves one better than the grandest 
 airs. 
 
 "You are going to St. Serge?" asked the 
 woman, pacified. 
 
 " Yes, on foot ; and I am very hungry." 
 
 " You should have said so. Sit down there, 
 my child ; you shall have something to eat 
 and to drink." 
 
 A fresh honeycomb and a bowl of milk 
 were immediately placed before her, with a 
 large piece of black bread, and her youthful 
 appetite did them the greatest honor. The 
 old woman watched her eat with a satisfied 
 air ; evidently she had felt great hunger more 
 than once herself, and she knew what pleasure, 
 not only material, but moral, accompanies 
 the partaking of hospitality generously offered 
 and gracefully received.
 
 WALKING. 289 
 
 When Agnes had finished her meal the 
 old woman asked, " Will you have some 
 more? Don't hesitate! Although far from 
 rich, we are not poor, and can offer a crust 
 of bread to passing pilgrims. They pray to 
 God for us, and we are better for it." 
 
 "Thanks, mother," replied the young girl. 
 " I am satisfied. I shall never forget your 
 hospitality. What can I do for you?" 
 
 " If you wish you can offer a very small 
 candle to the miraculous Virgin at the 
 monastery. But a very small one, you un- 
 derstand ! A candle worth three kopecks. 
 That which I have given you is not worth 
 so much ; but I have been wanting for a 
 long time to offer a candle there, and for 
 ten years have not been able to get as far 
 as St. Serge." 
 
 " I will do it," said Agnes. " Why can you 
 not go as far as that, it is so near ? " 
 
 "Ah, my child, we have no leisure in 
 our family! We work; some are born,
 
 290 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 others die. I have three daughters and two 
 sons, all married ; they have a throng of 
 children ; and, besides, it is now five years 
 since I have had my husband there on the 
 stove." 
 
 Agnes looked surprised, and in the darker 
 part of the room she perceived an old man, 
 with a white beard, lying on the stove, wrapped 
 in blankets. 
 
 " Excuse me, father, I had not seen you," 
 said she, going towards him. " Do you suffer?" 
 
 " I do not suffer, my little beauty," replied 
 the old man, looking at her kindly; "only my 
 legs refuse to support me, and I remain thus. 
 In summer they carry me out of doors, and I 
 see the good God's bright sun ; but after it 
 begins to be rather cold I do not go out. 
 Thanks to the Lord, I have a kind wife and 
 good children, who let me want for nothing, 
 and I am content." 
 
 "You are content?" cried Agnes, with a 
 kind of religious awe.
 
 WALKING. 291 
 
 "Why, yes! Why should I not be? They 
 take good care of me. I have good eyes and 
 good ears ; and from time to time a bounty 
 conies to me." 
 
 "A bounty?" 
 
 " Certainly ; a pedler passes with his boxes, 
 or even some pilgrims, who sing hymns or 
 tell stories. To-day it is you, my little 
 beauty. I take pleasure in looking at you, 
 and I shall laugh to-morrow in remembering 
 with what good appetite you ate your bread 
 just now." 
 
 The young girl became thoughtful. She 
 placed her hand upon that of the old man, 
 who smiled as he looked at her. 
 
 " Father," said she, " I thank you for your 
 hospitality; it has done me more good than 
 you think for. I will pray that your life may 
 be always full of things which you love. And 
 you, mother, I will gladly fulfil your desire. 
 I will offer a candle to the Virgin of the 
 monastery."
 
 292 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " A little one, for three kopecks." 
 
 " Yes, a little one ; for the recovery of your 
 husband." 
 
 " Oh ! his recovery ! that isn't to be 
 thought of! But only that he may not 
 grow any worse." 
 
 She bade them farewell; the good woman 
 accompanied her, and on the threshold she 
 paused. 
 
 " I am glad that I entered here, mother ; 
 you have given me bread for my body, and 
 your husband that for my soul. May God's 
 blessing rest upon your house ! " 
 
 " May his protection accompany you ! " 
 answered the old woman fervently. " But 
 listen to a word of advice, my child : don't 
 mention money when you enter people's 
 houses ; that makes them angry, you see ! 
 One is willing to give, but not for money ; 
 that would spoil all ! " 
 
 " You are indeed right, mother. I will not 
 forget it. Good-by."
 
 WALKING. 293 
 
 She departed with a light step, refreshed 
 and comforted. A mysterious and solemn 
 impression remained upon her, as if she were 
 walking in a church. The resignation of the 
 peasant and the simplicity of the old woman 
 had penetrated her soul with a strange sweet- 
 ness; the bread of charity, simply accepted, 
 appeared to her a veritable communion with 
 these humble people. 
 
 " To know how to content one's self with a 
 little ! with so little ! O my brothers, before 
 God, I love you ! " murmured Agnes, her 
 eyes brimming with happy tears. 
 
 The sun declined, and she kept on walking. 
 Soon it hid itself behind a grove of birches 
 which covered a hill on the right ; through the 
 thin branches, already bereft of their leaves, 
 she saw the sky grow red like a flame, and 
 then the brightness decrease. The steeples 
 of St. Serge at last appeared before her eyes, 
 which began to grow weary, and which the 
 chill of the evening filled with mist.
 
 294 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 She was tired out; often, fearing to drop, 
 she paused an instant to take breath. Must 
 the night come on before she reached the 
 town? At home, in her father's woods, she 
 would not have been afraid ; but here, on 
 this unknown ground, she knew not what 
 she might meet. 
 
 She walked on and on, thinking that 
 everything was difficult; that the way to 
 liberty was full of unexpected obstacles, and 
 that to be willing was not sufficient. In spite 
 of the firmest determination, how many hin- 
 drances, how many snares, and her ever 
 strong will could not assuage the pain of her 
 burning feet, wearied by a long journey. 
 
 The sky had turned from red to yellow, from 
 yellow to green. The shadows of the forests 
 were now black masses, where one could dis- 
 tinguish neither leaves nor branches and 
 Agnes still walked on. The bells of St. Serge 
 pealed out in the calm air. " Come," said they; 
 "we are the refuge, the end of the pilgrimage;
 
 WALKING. 295 
 
 we call the tired traveller to the place of rest 
 and prayer. When you have reached the 
 foot of the tower whence we resound you may 
 retire and sleep " 
 
 The sound of the bells died away in the 
 clear air, and Agnes felt no longer alone. 
 
 For an instant she thought of seating herself 
 by the wayside and remaining there. She 
 had less fear of the open air than of hotels, 
 which, moreover, appeared to her to be in- 
 accessible. She recalled songs where the 
 heroes laughingly spoke of sleeping at the inn 
 of " The Fair Star." 
 
 But it was growing cold, and Agnes was so 
 orderly, such a careful observer of propriety, 
 that this seeming vagabondage was exceedingly 
 distasteful to her. A church might answer, 
 but the roadside 
 
 And, besides, what encounters she might 
 have ! She resumed her walk with dragging 
 feet, very tired, sad, and overcome. Finally 
 the houses of the town appeared ; the young
 
 296 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 girl straightened up so as to present a good 
 front, like troops on the march ; with calm 
 face and confident tread, she walked to the 
 square before the monastery. There were 
 few people about ; the train from Moscow had 
 just arrived, and all had hastened to their 
 homes or their business. Agnes thought that 
 she would take a carriage to the railway sta- 
 tion, for she was unable to walk more. 
 
 She went to the carriage stand in the 
 centre of the square, and was about to call a 
 cabman, when she saw a tall man, with shoul- 
 ders slightly bent, who seemed to be making 
 a bargain for a cab. 
 
 A voice, grave and rather sad, struck her 
 ear. There was everything in that well-known 
 voice, home, happiness, even love. 
 
 " Ermile ! " cried the young girl, stretching 
 out her arms. 
 
 The bag and umbrella fell to the ground, 
 and Agnes threw herself, weeping, on the 
 breast of her banished lover.
 
 WALKING. 297 
 
 " I was just going to seek you," said the 
 young man, simply, gathering up the fallen 
 objects, after the first moment of surprise. 
 
 "Which do you prefer, to pass the night 
 here, or to start immediately for Moscow?" 
 
 " Let us start ! let us start ! " murmured 
 Agnes, clinging tightly to his arm. 
 
 "There is a train in an hour; let us go 
 to the station." 
 
 " No, wait ! " said the young girl. " I have 
 a duty to fulfil." 
 
 Followed by her friend, she entered the 
 great church, where vespers were being sung; 
 near the door she bought a candle for three 
 kopecks, and placed it herself before the 
 miraculous image, after which she went out. 
 But Ermile had not understood the meaning 
 of her act. 
 
 "Superstitious rites! you, Agnes?" said 
 he. 
 
 "No; a promise. I will tell you about it." 
 
 The train was soon carrying them away to
 
 298 DOSJA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Moscow. Sitting silently, opposite each other, 
 they looked at one another and smiled; they 
 were not inclined to speech ; they had too 
 much to say, and, besides, they had plenty 
 of time. 
 
 An hour later they crossed Moscow. At 
 ten o'clock they were in the night train, 
 which bore them towards the Volga. 
 
 When they found themselves alone, in the 
 warm and well-lighted compartment, Agnes 
 stretched out so as to rest her swollen feet. 
 Ermile said to her, smiling sadly, " How thin 
 you have grown ! " 
 
 " It's because I have eaten too much cold 
 roast," replied she, in a tired voice. 
 
 She was truly exhausted. 
 
 Without dwelling on the originality of this 
 reply Ermile answered : 
 
 " I have disobeyed you again, but reas- 
 sure yourself; as soon as we have returned I 
 shall be wise enough to go to my father's, and 
 not trouble you further by my presence"
 
 WALKING. 299 
 
 " Ermile, will you never pardon me?" 
 cried Agnes, stretching towards him her thin 
 hand, now a little feverish. 
 
 "I pardon you? O my darling!" 
 
 And, at the risk of appearing ridicu- 
 lous, he fell upon his knees in the car- 
 riage, showering tender kisses on her burning 
 hand. 
 
 The next day, before the sun had disap- 
 peared behind the forests, Agnes reentered 
 the home of her parents. Warned by a 
 despatch from Ermile, they awaited her with 
 hearts full of anxiety. Despatches say either 
 too little or too much to satisfy the eager- 
 ness of anxious people, and Dosia feared to 
 see her child return embittered by suffering. 
 
 At last the carriage sent to meet the 
 travellers rolled up the drive. Dosia wished 
 to run out on the porch, but her husband 
 restrained her. 
 
 " It is the prodigal child, wife," said he ; 
 " but do not forget that, like him, she has
 
 300 DOSSA'S DAUGHTER, 
 
 sinned against heaven and against us. The 
 happiness of her life may depend upon the first 
 word she shall say on entering the house " 
 
 The door opened ; Agnes entered ; without 
 speaking, her father and mother awaited her, 
 standing. She did not even look in their 
 faces, but ran towards them, and fell on her 
 knees before her mother. Dosia received 
 her in her arms, and felt that paradise is 
 sometimes found upon earth. 
 
 " Well, my. daughter," said Platon, with 
 a slight smile, " have you tasted the fruits 
 of the tree of knowledge?" 
 
 "They are bitter, papa," replied the guilty 
 girl ; " but their bitterness has at least taught 
 me that my wisdom was only folly," 
 
 After Vera and Kola had eagerly em- 
 braced their sister, and Mademoiselle Titof 
 had cut short Agnes's excuses by a most 
 affectionate reception, Platon turned to Ermile. 
 
 "How were you able to find her?" 
 said he.
 
 WALKING. 301 
 
 " It is very simple," replied the worthy 
 young man, with his accustomed modesty. 
 "I was anxious on your account, you 
 understand that, do you not?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, I understand," said Platon, with 
 a convinced air, while Dosia repressed a smile. 
 
 "Then I said to myself that Miss Agnes 
 must have had recourse to some bureau of 
 employment. They are not very numerous 
 in Moscow, and I soon made the round of 
 them. A wrong direction, in consequence of 
 a resemblance of names, cost me several days ; 
 but finally I was fortunate enough to get 
 upon the right track, and from that moment 
 was entirely successful." 
 
 "You met, then, on the street?" 
 
 " On the square, just as Agnes Miss 
 Agnes was about to take one carriage for 
 the station, and I another to go to the place 
 where she lived." 
 
 " Where were you going then ? " asked 
 Vera, "not coming here, surely?"
 
 3<D2 DOSfA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Agnes blushed. 
 
 " No, not here. I knew that I did not 
 deserve to be received here. I was going to 
 Aunt Mouriefs." 
 
 " That's all right ! " cried Kola ; " they will 
 be here to-morrow evening ! " 
 
 " Come," said Platon, " all is for the best. 
 Now, my children, let us go to dinner." 
 
 The next day Pierre and his wife did, 
 indeed, arrive. Aunt Sophie had to receive 
 many confidences from Agnes, who told her 
 all which she did not yet dare express to 
 her mother, although they understood each 
 other's hearts from the first. Good Sophie 
 knew how to place them at once in enjoy- 
 ment of their reciprocal feelings, so that no 
 cloud, no doubt, could henceforth rise be- 
 tween them. 
 
 " Well, niece," said Pierre, seeing the young 
 girl evince at table the best of appetites; 
 "have you eaten of the vache enragee?" 
 
 " Pardon me, uncle, it was of beef," replied
 
 WALKING. 303 
 
 she. And everybody was delighted with the 
 joke, for at that moment they were easily 
 satisfied. 
 
 Marie had come to Sourova to celebrate 
 the finding of the lost sheep. After some 
 preliminaries she said to her : 
 
 " You know that Ermile deserves credit 
 for going to seek you. You had not given 
 him any encouragement!" 
 
 "I know it," answered Agnes. "Do not 
 overwhelm me ! Marie, it seems to me that, 
 from the time of my birth until the moment 
 he rescued me, I have made nothing but 
 blunders." 
 
 " Oh ! then all is well ! " said Marie. 
 
 A few days after, Ermile made his mar- 
 riage offer to Agnes's parents. He knew 
 now, beyond doubt, that the heart, so long 
 coveted, was irrevocably his. 
 
 "We have only just recovered her; you 
 are not going to take her from us at once ! " 
 was Dosia's response.
 
 304 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Next summer," said Platon. " And you 
 had better come and pass the winter at 
 Petersburg. You and she can only gain by 
 seeing each other often in the same society. 
 You will thus both become better acquainted 
 with it and with yourselves." 
 
 Christmas eve, all the family, including 
 Ermile, dined at Aunt Sophie's, with a great 
 abundance of good-humor and choice dishes. 
 
 " Come, Agnes," said Uncle Pierre, who 
 could not refrain from the pleasure of teas- 
 ing* " y u have never confided to us what 
 occurred there at the house of the ogress, 
 in the vicinity of St. Serge." 
 
 " I have told my parents about it, dear 
 uncle ! " 
 
 " You could not more delicately inform me 
 that I am indiscreetly curious. But an uncle 
 is almost a father ! Confess, now ! You de- 
 voured the ogress, and it is to escape justice 
 that you have sought refuge in the bosom 
 of your family? "
 
 WALKING. 305 
 
 Agnes smiled good-naturedly. She could 
 take a joke now, and knew how to reply 
 to it. 
 
 "I ate no one, uncle; and. I sometimes 
 regret it, for it would have varied the bill 
 of fare." 
 
 Pierre made a gesture of approval. 
 
 " Well answered. And tell me, was the 
 family numerous?" 
 
 " A father, mother, son, and daughter." 
 
 "A grown-up son?" said Pierre, winking. 
 
 "Yes, uncle." 
 
 " In love with you ? " 
 
 "Yes, uncle." 
 
 Agnes burst out laughing at the remem- 
 brance of Mittia. 
 
 "Did you make a martyr of him?" 
 
 " O uncle, it was he made a martyr of 
 me. I did not look at him, I assure 
 you ! " 
 
 "Well, did he court you?" 
 
 " Yes, uncle."
 
 306 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 "How?" 
 
 Agnes imitated one of the tenderly modu- 
 lated sighs of the unfortunate Mittia. Every- 
 body laughed. 
 
 "And that was all?" 
 
 " Oh, no ! " 
 
 "What happened finally?" 
 
 Agnes assumed a very serious air and 
 looked at Ermile, who was laughing. 
 
 " Don't laugh, sir," said she. " It is a 
 serious matter, as you will see." 
 
 "You did not stab him?" asked Vera, 
 whom all the ladies regarded reproachfully. 
 
 "No, but he came near" 
 
 " To kiss you ? " interrupted Pierre Mourief, 
 with a droll expression about his mouth. 
 
 "Yes, and then" 
 
 "Go on, Dosia's daughter, go on" 
 
 " I gave him a slap," said Agnes, mod- 
 estly. 
 
 " It runs in the family ! " cried Pierre, 
 shaking with delight.
 
 WALKING. 307 
 
 All the guests shared his gayety, even 
 Platon. Dosia alone did not laugh altogether 
 heartily. It was very painful to her to think 
 that her daughter, her cherished Agnes, had 
 been exposed to such dangers. Agnes un- 
 derstood it, and threw her a look full of 
 tenderness, which contained a world of regrets 
 and promises. 
 
 After a delightful winter, when the spring 
 brought every one back to the country, there 
 came a festival season for the happy family. 
 The time of Agnes's marriage drew near; 
 but she would really be very little separated 
 from her parents, whom she had now learned 
 to love as they deserved. However, Dosia 
 seemed to treasure the last days that her 
 daughter was to be with her; for now she 
 and Agnes never left each otHer. 
 
 The day came, however, when the young 
 bride left her loved home to join at church 
 the husband whom she now loved with all her 
 soul. Just as she was crossing the threshold
 
 308 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 a little package was handed her, which had 
 arrived by post. Since the previous day there 
 had been a constant shower of presents. The 
 package was opened, for Agnes wished to see 
 who had thought of her. It was a little image 
 carved out of cypress wood, very simple and 
 even rude, representing St. Serge. 
 
 "From whom can that come? " asked Vera, 
 always inquisitive. 
 
 "I do not know!" said Agnes, searching 
 her memory. " Oh, yes ! it is my wayside 
 peasant, she who gave me food the day I 
 found no, that Ermile found me ! We 
 wrote them of our marriage. Such kind 
 people ! " 
 
 The ceremony took place very quietly, as 
 was fitting in a courftry church ; but everybody 
 was happy, and the church as full of flowers 
 as at Whitsuntide. 
 
 When, in the evening, Ermile had led away 
 
 * 
 his young wife, who secretly shed tears of 
 
 real repentance at the memory of her errors,
 
 WALKING. 309 
 
 Platon sat in the large drawing-room, with 
 all the family. 
 
 "She will be happy," said he; "there is not 
 the least doubt of that; but how we shall 
 miss her ! " 
 
 " I do not know," replied Dosia, " how I 
 can manage to live without her. I shall miss 
 her follies even, and there will be a great 
 vacancy in my life." 
 
 " Happily I am here ! " said Vera, with a 
 suggestive air, which said much. 
 
 Dosia stroked her hair affectionately, and 
 turned towards her sister-in-law. But Vera 
 had her idea, and it was to Mademoiselle 
 Titof that she confided it. 
 
 "If they find it dull," said she," it will not 
 be my fault ! Now that Agnes is gone they 
 shall learn what I am capable of. So far I 
 have been misunderstood."
 
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 Ticknor and Company. 15 
 
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 16 A List of Books Published by 
 
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 Out of the Question. A Counterfeit Presentment. 
 
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 tian Days" and "Italian Journeys." 
 
 CHOICE AUTOBIOGRAPHIES. 8 vols. 16mo. $1.25 each. 
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 Ticknor and Company. 17 
 
 AUTUMN OF 1885. 
 
 The prices named below are subject to revision on publication. 
 
 THE HOLIDAY BOOK OF THE SEASON. 
 
 BYRON'S CHILDE HAROLD. 
 
 An entirely TTew Edition of this Famous and Popular Poem, 
 from New Plates, with more than One Hundred New 
 Illustrations by leading American Artists. 
 
 Elegantly and appropriately bound, with full gilt edges. In box. 
 Cloth, $6.00. Tree-calf, of antique morocco, $10.00. A few 
 copies in crushed levant, with silk linings, $25.00. 
 
 The immediate and permanent success of " The Lady of the Lake," 
 . " Marmion," etc., has encouraged the publishers to briug out this not less 
 popular and famous poem. It is produced in the same style, and with the 
 same careful and elaborate style of illustration, regardless of cost, while 
 Mr. Anthony's skilful supervision is sufficient guaranty that the work is 
 elegant and tasteful as well as correct. The publishers feel assured that the 
 work in its now and beautiful shape will be the leading Holiday Book of the 
 year. 
 
 IN CAMP AND BATTLE WITH THE WASHING- 
 TON ARTILLERY OF NEW ORLEANS. By WM. MILLEB OWEN, 
 First Lieutenant and Adjutant B. W. A. Illustrated with Maps and En- 
 gravings. 1 vol. 8vo $3.00. 
 
 A narrative of events during tho late Civil War, from Bull Run to Ap- 
 pomattox and Spanish Fort. Compiled by the adjutant from bis diary 
 and from authentic documents and orders. 
 
 DA VY AND THE GOBLIN. By CHARLES E. CARRYL. 
 
 1 vol. 4to. Very finely and richly illustrated. 1.50. 
 
 An astute critic recently wrote that the mantle of the author of " Alice's 
 Adventures in Wonderland " had certainly descended on Charles Carryl. 
 The fascinating " Davy and the Goblin," recently written by Mr. Carryl, 
 and printed in " St. Nicholas," has been revised, re-written, and greatly 
 enlarged by the author, and will be one of the choicest juvenile books of 
 the >tar.
 
 18 A List of Books Published by 
 
 A NARRATIVE OF MILITARY SERVICE. By Gen. 
 
 W. B. HAZEN. 1 vol. 8vo. With Maps, Plans, and Illustrations. $3.00. 
 " There can be no doubt, we think, that it will be eagerly read, particu- 
 larly by the brave soldiers whom he led at Shiloh, who held the crest at 
 Stone Ridge, who stood firm jnder his eye at Chickamauga, who floated 
 with him by night under the shadow of Lookout Mountain down to Brown's 
 Kerry, who received his order to climb the face of Mission Ridge, who helped 
 to take Atlanta, who marched to the sea, who swarmed over the parapets of 
 Fort McAllister, who mnde the triumphant campaign of the Carolinas, and 
 passed in review before the President." N. Y. Mail and Express. 
 
 TUSCAN CITIES. By WILLIAM D. HOWELLS. 1 vol. 
 
 8vo. Copiously illustrated. $5.00. Morocco, or tree-calf, $10.00. 
 
 A series of recent sketches of certain famous Italian cities, written with 
 minute carefulness and befitting elegance of style, and at once historical, 
 instructive, personal, and diverting. They are also admirably illustrated 
 by Pennell, who was sent abroad for the purpose. 
 
 LECTURES ON THE PRINCIPLES OF HOUSE 
 
 DRAINAGE. By J. PICKEIUNG PUTNAM. With Diagrams. 16mo. 75 cents. 
 
 ENGLISH HOME LIFE. By ROBERT LAIRD COLLIER. 
 
 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00. 
 
 A delightful account of the manners of the English people in their homes, 
 written by a well-known gentleman, who for years has been pastor of a 
 Unitarian Church in England. 
 
 CHRISTIANITY BEFORE CHRIST; OR, PROTO- 
 TYPES OF OUR FAITH AND CULTURE. By CHARLES J. 
 STONE, F.R.S.L., F.R.Hist.S. 1vol. Crown 8vo. $3.00. 
 
 This book traces the elaboration in arts and arms of the civilization of 
 ancient Hindustan ; and places the religion in juxtaposition with Chris- 
 tianity. Quotations are given from the ancient Hindu Dramas, Poems, 
 Religious Writings, &c. It shows that prototypes to our Christian doc- 
 trines and practices have long existed among our Indo-Aryau cousins, and 
 other peoples. 
 
 MILTON AND VONDEL, A Curiosity of Literature. 
 
 By GEORGE EDMUNDSON, M.A. Late Fellow and Tutor of Braseno?e College, 
 Oxford, Vicar of Northolt, Middlesex. 1 vol. Crown 8vo. $2.50. 
 
 POEMS. By WILLIAM D. HOWELLS. 1 vol. 12mo. In a 
 
 box. New and revised edition. Printed on fine hand-made paper. Parch- 
 ment covers. $2.00. 
 
 " The subtile, elusive charm that makes his prose ineffably delicious is 
 here too, the tenderness of feeling, the play of humor, the colorful 
 beauty, the sad sweetness." New York Evening Mail. 
 
 THE GOLDEN SPIKE. By EDWARD KING, author of 
 
 " The Gentle Savage," etc. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 Mr. King's previous novel established his reputation for originality nnd 
 sustained interest in novel-writing; and " The Golden Spike " more than 
 redeems the promise of its predecessor. 
 
 THE KNAVE OF HEARTS. By ROBERT GRANT 
 12mo. $1.26.
 
 Ticknor and Company. 19 
 
 IN PRESS: 
 DOSIA'S DAUGHTER. By HKNKI GRE"VILLK. Trans- 
 
 latcd from the French by CLARA ERSKINE CLEMENT WATERS. 12mo. $1.26. 
 Madame Greville has formally constituted Messrs. Ticknor and Company 
 her American Publishers, and the present delightful noTel is brought out by 
 them in advance of its appearance in Paris. 
 
 JAPANESE HOMES AND THEIR SURROUND- 
 INGS. By EDWARD S. MORSE, Ph. D., Director of the Peabody Academy 
 of Science, late Professor of Zoology in the University of Tokio, Japan, 
 Member of the National Academy of Science, Fellow of the American 
 Academy of Arts and Sciences, etc. , etc. Profusely illustrated with original 
 drawings by the author. 1 vol. 8vo. 85.00. 
 
 A work of unique and surpassing interest. The art of Japan is a subject 
 of universal study and wonder. The home-life of the Japanese few travel- 
 ler hitherto have been permitted to examine. Professor Morse has been 
 enabled to see and study this wonderful people in their own homes. The 
 results of his observation are embodied in this volume, and fully sustain 
 the popular -expectation as to the interest of the subject and the author's 
 reputation as the leading Japanese scholar of the time. 
 
 CHOSON: THE LAND OF THE MORNING CALM. 
 
 By PERCIVAL LOWELI. Richly illustrated with full-page Heliotype Engrav- 
 ings, from the first photographs ever made in Korea. 1 vol. 8vo. $5.00. 
 
 While in Japan, in the summer of 1883, Mr. Lowell was asked to accom- 
 pany the Korean Embassy to the United States, the first Korean Embassy 
 ever accredited to a Western power, as its Foreign Secretary and Counsellor. 
 At the completion of its mission Mr. Lowell returned with the Embassy to 
 Korea, where he was entertained as the guest of the king for several months . 
 
 The present volume is the outcome of that visit, and is the first book 
 ever written about Korea by one who has been there. 
 
 THE OLDEN-TIME SERIES. 16mo. Per vol., 50 cents. 
 
 There appears to be, from year to year, a growing popular taste for quaint 
 and curious reminiscences of " Ye Olden Time," and to meet this, Mr. 
 Henry M. Brooks has prepared a series of interesting handbooks. The 
 materials have been gleaned chiefly from old newspapers of Boston and 
 Salem, sources not easily accessible, and while not professing to be history, 
 the volumes will contain much material for history, BO combined and 
 presented as to be both amusing and instructive. The titles of some of the 
 volumes indicate their scope and their promise of entertainment : ' Curi- 
 osities of the Old Lottery," "Days of the Spinning Wheel," "Some 
 Strange and Curious Punishments," ' Quaint and Curious Advertisements,'' 
 "Literary Curiosities," "New-England Sunday," etc. 
 
 LIFE AND WORKS OF MRS. CLEMMER. 
 
 AN AMERICAN WOMAN'S LIFE AND WORK. 
 
 A Memorial of Mary Clemmer, by EDMUND HUDSON, with Portrait. 
 
 POEMS OF LIFE AND NATURE. 
 
 HIS TWO WIVES. 
 
 MEN, WOMEN, AND THINGS. Revised and 
 
 augmented. 
 
 The whole in four 12mo volumes, tastefully bound, forming a beauti- 
 ful, uniform set of the selected works, together with the memorial 
 biography of this popular and lamented writer.
 
 20 A List of JBooks Published by 
 
 IN PRESS: 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF HENRY WADSWORTH 
 
 LONGFELLOW Edited by Rer. Samuel Longfellow. 2 vols. 12mo. 
 $0.00. .AVith new steel engraved Portraits and many wood Engravings. 
 Also a limited Edition de luxe, with proof Portraits. 
 
 The biography of the foremost American poet, written by his brother, is 
 probably the most important work of the kind brought put in the United 
 States for years. It is rich in domestic, personal, and family interest, anec- 
 dotes, reminiscences, and other thoroughly charming memorabilia. 
 
 THE LIFE AND GENIUS OF GOETHE. The Lec- 
 tures at the Concord School of Philosophy, for 1885. By F. B. Sanborn, 
 W. T. Harris, and others. 1 vol. 12mo. With portrait. 
 
 ITALIAN POETS. By W. D. HOWELLS. 12mo. 11.50. 
 
 Biographical, and Critical Notices of the masters of Italian poetry. 
 
 A SEA CHANGE; or, Love'a Stowaway. A Comic 
 
 opera. By W. D. HOWELLS. 1 vol. 16mo. Little-Classic size. 
 
 THE VIRGINIA CAMPAIGN OF GENERAL POPE 
 
 IN 1862. Being Volume II. of Papers read before the Military Historical 
 Society of Massachusetts. With Maps and Plans. 1 vol. 8vo. $3.00. 
 
 THE YOUNG PEOPLE'S TENNYSON. Students' 
 
 Edition. 1 vol. 16mo. Edited, with Notes and Introduction, by W. J. 
 Rolfe. Beautifully illustrated. 75 cents. 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF TENNYSON. Second Part. 
 
 Students' Edition. Edited, with Notes and Introduction, by W. J. Rolfe. 
 1 vol. 16mo. Beautifully illustrated. 75 cents. 
 
 SONGS AND BALLADS OF THE OLD PLANTA- 
 TIONS, BY UNCLE REMUS. By JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS. 1 voL 
 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 " Uncle Remus's " legends have created a strong demand for his songs, 
 which will be eagerly welcomed. 
 
 A ROMANTIC YOUNG LADY. By ROBERT 
 
 author of " The Confessions of a Frivolous Girl," " An Average Man," etc. 
 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 This is the latest and one of the strongest works of the successful deline- 
 ator of modern society life and manners It will be read eagerly and 
 enjoyably by thousands of lovers of the best fiction. 
 
 A NEW AND ENLARGED CONCORDANCE TO 
 
 THE HOLY SCRIPTURES. By Rev. J. B. R. WALKER. 
 
 This monumental work of patient industry and iron diligence is indispen- 
 sable to all students of the Bible, to which it is the key and introduction. 
 Many errors and omissions in the plans of the older Concordances have 
 been avoided in this one, which also bears reference to the Revised Bible, 
 as well as to the Kiag-James version.
 
 Ticknor and Company. 21 
 
 THE 
 
 MEMORIAL HISTORY OF BOSTON, 
 
 In Four Volumes. Quarto. 
 
 With more than 600 Illustrations by famous artists and engravers, all 
 made for this work. 
 
 Edited by JUSTIN WINSOR, LIBRARIAN OF HARVARD UNIVERSITY. 
 
 Among the contributors are : 
 
 GOT. JOHN D. Loxo, Dr. O. W. HOLMES, 
 
 Hon. CHARLES FRASCIS ADAMS, JOHX O. WHITTIZB, 
 
 Rev. PHILLIPS BROOKS, D.D., Rev. J. F. CLARKE, D.D., 
 
 EBT. E. E. HALE, D.D., Rev. A. P. PEABODY, D.D., 
 
 Hon. ROBERT C WIKTHROP, Col. T. W . UICGINSON, 
 
 Hon. J. HAMMOND TKCMDULL, Professor ASA, GRAY, 
 
 Admiral G. U. FEEBLE, Gen. F. W. PALFBET, 
 HENRY CABOT LODGE. 
 
 VOLUME I. treats of the Geology, Fauna, and Flora ; the Voyages and Maps of 
 the Northmen, Italians, Captain John Smith, and the Plymouth Settlers ; 
 the Massachusetts Company, Puritanism, and the Aborigines ; the Lit- 
 erature, Life, and Chief Families of the Colonial Period. 
 
 VOL. II. treats of the Royal Governors ; French and Indian "Wars ; Witches 
 and Pirates ; The Religion, Literature, Customs, and Chief Families of the 
 Provincial Period. 
 
 VOL. III. treats of the Revolutionary Period and the Conflict around Boston ; 
 and the Statesmen, Sailors, and Soldiers, the Topography, Literature, and 
 Life of Boston during that time ; and also of the Last Hundred Years' 
 History, the War of 1812, Abolitionism, and the Press. 
 
 VOL. IV. treats of the Social Life, Topography, and Landmarks, Industries, 
 Commerce, Railroads, and Financial History of this Century in Boston ; 
 with Monographic Chapters on Boston's Libraries, Women, Science, Art, 
 Music, Philosophy, Architecture, Charities, etc. 
 
 %* Sold by subscription only. Send for a Prospectus to the 
 Publishers, 
 
 TICKNOR AND COMPANY, Boston.
 
 22 A List of Books Published by 
 
 'I'm-! STUDENTS' SERIES OF 
 
 STANDARD POETRY. 
 
 EDITED BY W. J. ROLFE, A.M. 
 
 {^" All these books are equally suited to the use of the student, and that of 
 the general reader. They should hare a place in every library, public or private. 
 Price 75 cents each. 
 
 I. SCOTT'S LADY OF THE LAKE. 
 
 The text is correctly printed for the first time in fifty years. The notes 
 (88 pp.) include Scott's and Lockhart's, and are fuller than in any other 
 edition, English or American. The illustrations are mainly of the scenery 
 of the poem, from sketches made on the spot. 
 
 II. TENNYSON'S THE PRINCESS. 
 
 The iiotes (50 pp.) give the history of the poem, all the readings of the 
 earlier editions, selected comment!) by the best English and American 
 critics, full explanations of all allusions, &o. The illustrations are from 
 the elegant Holiday edition. 
 
 III. SELECT POEMS OF TENNYSON. 
 
 Including the Lady of Shalott, the Miller's Daughter, CEnone, the Lotos- 
 Eaters, The Palace of Art, A Dream of Fair Women, Morte d'Arthur, The 
 Talking Oak, Ulysses, Locksley Hall, The Two Voices, St. Agnes' Eve, Sir 
 Galahad, The Brook, &c. The text is from the latest English edition (1884). 
 The notes (50 pp.) include a careful collation of the earlier editions, with 
 explanatory and critical comments. The illustrations are of high char- 
 acter. 
 
 IV. SCOTT'S MARMION. 
 
 With copious Notes and introductory matter. The text is now correctly 
 printed for the first time. 
 
 V. THE YOUNG PEOPLE'S TENNYSON. (IN P**SS.) 
 
 VI. SELECT POEMS OF TENNYSON. SECOND PAKT. (I* PRESS.) 
 
 TREMONT EDITIONS. Each in 1 vol. 16mo. Beautifully illustrated. 
 With red lines, bevelled boards, and gilt edges, $2.50. Half-calf, $4.00. 
 Antique morocco, flexible calf, flexible seal, or tree-calf, $6.00. 
 
 Ladle. The Princess. Marmlon. The Lady of the Lake. 
 
 POCKET EDITIONS. Each in 1 vol. Little-Classic size. With thirty Illus- 
 trations. Elegantly bound, $1.00. Half-calf, $2 25. Antique morocco, 01 
 flexible calf or seal, $3.00. Tree-calf, 83.50. 
 
 Lucile. The Princess. Harmion. The Lady of the Lake.
 
 Ticknor and Company. 23 
 
 THE CHOICEST EDITIONS 
 
 OF THE 
 
 FIVE GREAT MODERN POEMS. 
 
 Drawn and engraved under the care of A. V. S. ANTHONY. Each in 
 one volume, 8vo, elegantly bound, with full gilt edges, in a neat box. 
 Each poem, in cloth, $6.00 ; in tree calf, or antique morocco, $10.00: 
 in crushed levant, extra, with silk linings, $25.00. Copiously illustrated 
 after drawings by Thomas Moran, E. H. Garrett, Harry Feun, A. B. 
 Frost, and other distinguished artists. 
 
 CHILDE HAROLD. 
 
 The choicest gift-book of 1885. With more than 100 noble Illustra- 
 tions, of great artistic value and beauty, representing the splendid 
 scenery and architecture of the Rhine, Greece, Italy, etc. 
 
 THE PRINCESS. 
 
 The most famous poem of ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. With 120 
 new and beautiful Illustrations. 
 
 " The most superb book of tbe Reason. The exquisite binding makes a fit 
 casket for Tennyson's enchanting ' Princess.' " Hartford Journal. 
 
 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 
 
 A superb fine-art edition, with 120 Illustrations. The choicest edition 
 of Scott's wonderful poem of Scottish chivalry. 
 
 " On page after page are seen the great dome of Bon-an rising in mid-air, huge 
 Ben-venue throwing his shadowed masses upon the lakes, and the long heights of 
 Ben Lomond hemming the horizon." Atlantic Monthly. 
 
 LUCILE. 
 
 By OWEN MEREDITH. With 160 Illustrations. 
 The high peaks of the Pyrenees, the golden valleys of the Rhineland, 
 and the battle-swept heights of the Crimea. 
 
 " This new edition is simply perfect paper, type, printing, and especially the 
 Illustrations, a most charming Christmas gift." American Literary 
 Churchman. 
 
 MARMION. 
 
 With more than 100 Illustrations, and Borders. 
 
 " Wild Scottish beauty. Never had a poem of stately and immortal beauty a 
 more fitting setting." Chicago Inter-Ocean. 
 
 For Sale by Booksellers. Sent, postpaid, on receipt of price, by the 
 Publishers, 
 
 TICKNOR AND COMPANY, Boston.
 
 THE 
 
 AMERICAN ARCHITECT 
 
 AND BUILDING NEWS. 
 
 An Illustrated Weekly Journal of Architecture and the Building Trades. 
 
 Each number is accompanied by six fine quarto illustrations, while 
 illustrative cuts are liberally used in the text. Although the paper 
 addresses itself primarily to architects and builders, by its discussions 
 upon matters of interest common to those engaged in building pursuits, 
 it is the object of the editors to make it acceptable and necessary to 
 that large portion of the educated classes who are interested in and 
 appreciate the importance of good architectural surroundings, to civil 
 and sanitary engineers, draughtsmen, antiquaries, craftsmen of all kinds, 
 and all intelligent readers. 
 
 As an indication of the feeling with which this journal is regarded 
 by the profession, we quote the following extract from a report of a com- 
 mittee of the American Institute of Architects upon " American Archi- 
 tectural Journals": 
 
 "At Boston, Mass., is issued the AMERICAN ARCHITECT AND BCODDJO 
 NEWS, a weekly of the first class, and, it must be acknowledged, the only 
 journal in this country that can compare favorably with the great London 
 architectural publications. It is Tery liberally illustrated with full-page litho- 
 graphic impressions of the latest designs of our most noted architects, and with 
 occasional views of celebrated European buildings. Once a month a fine gelatine 
 print is issued in a special edition. Its editorial department is conducted in a 
 scholarly, courteous, and, at the same time, independent tone, and its selections 
 made with excellent judgment. It is the accepted exemplar of American archi- 
 tectural practice, and is found in the office of almost every architect in the 
 Union." April 15, 1885. 
 
 Subscription Prices. (In Advance.) 
 
 REGULAR EDITION. $6.00 per year; $3.50 per half year. 
 
 GELATINE EDITION (the same as the regular edition, but including 
 12 or more Gelatine Prints). $7.00 per year ; $4.00 per half year. 
 
 MONTHLY EDITION (identical with the first weekly issue for each 
 month, but containing no Gelatine Prints). $1.75 per year; 1.00 per 
 half year. 
 
 Bound volumes for 1876, 1877, 1878, 1879, 1880, 1881, $10.50; 1882, 
 1883, 1884, and 1885, $9.00 each. 
 
 Specimen numbers and advertising rates furnished on application to 
 the publishers, 
 
 TICKNOR AND COMPANY, 
 
 211 7REMON7 STREE7, BOSTON, MASS.
 
 X 
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 THE LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
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 STAMPED BELOW.
 
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