The two rooms between hers and the chamber where the dead man lay were quite empty and nearly dark; there were no candles in them.  From the chamber came the feeble glimmer of the tiny lamps burning before the icons.[Sacred images.] The tapers were not lit yet, as the deacon had not yet arrived.  He was to come at the same time as the priest and the coffin.  For the moment there was no one near the dead man; in the anteroom sat the Sister of Mercy.

“You wish to pray?” she asked the general’s wife.

“Yes, I shall pray there, in his room.”

She slipped past the dead body without looking at it, to the room that had been the general’s bedroom, and closed the door behind her.  She was afraid to lock it, and after all, was it necessary?  It would only take a moment.  There it is, the box!  She knows it of old!  And she knows its key of old, too; it is not so long since her husband had no secrets from her.

The key was quickly slipped into the lock, and the lid rose quickly.  The paper?  That new, detestable paper, which might deprive her of everything.  Ah! there it is!

To close the lid quickly, and turn the key in the lock; to hide the keys somewhere; here, between the seat and the back of the sofa, on which he lay.  That’s it!

A sigh of relief from fear escaped the beautiful lips of the handsome woman, lips which were pale through those terrible days.  She could feel secure at last!

She must look at the document, the proof of his cruelty, his injustice, his stupidity!  She must make sure that there was no mistake!  Olga Vseslavovna went up to the window, and taking advantage of the last ray of the gray day, unfolded the will.

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit!” she read.  Yes, that is it, the will.

“How he pronounced those same words, when he was blessing little Olga,” she remembered.  “Blessing her!  And his hand did not tremble, when he signed this.  To deprive her, to deprive them both, of everything, all on account of those hated people?  But now—­it should never be!  On no account!  Your down-at-the-heel pedagogue shall not strut about in peacock’s feathers!  Olga and I ... require the money more!”

And the general’s wife was tempted to snap her fingers in triumph in the direction of the dead man.

Suddenly, quite close to the door, the sound of steps was heard.  Good heavens!  And she held the big sheet of crested paper in her hand!  Where could she put it?  She had no time to think of folding it up.  There! they are coming in already!  Who can it be?

And the will lay on the floor, the general’s wife kneeling on it, as on a prayer carpet, in an attitude of prayer, her clasped hands on the window sill, her wet eyes fixed on a faintly twinkling star, as though calling heaven to witness her inconsolable grief and bereavement.

It was only the Sister of Mercy.

“Madam, the people have come, bringing the coffin; and I think the police have also come.”