At last, one fine day, Saveliitch came into my room with a letter in his hand.

I took it trembling.  The address was written in my father’s hand.

This prepared me for something serious, since it was usually my mother who wrote, and he only added a few lines at the end.  For a long time I could not make up my mind to break the seal.  I read over the solemn address:—­

“To my son, Petr’ Andrejitch Grineff, District of Orenburg, Fort Belogorsk.”

I tried to guess from my father’s handwriting in what mood he had written the letter.  At last I resolved to open it, and I did not need to read more than the first few lines to see that the whole affair was at the devil.  Here are the contents of this letter:—­

“My Son Petr’,—­

“We received the 15th of this month the letter in which you ask our parental blessing and our consent to your marriage with Marya Ivanofna, the Mironoff daughter.[46] And not only have I no intention of giving you either my blessing or my consent, but I intend to come and punish you well for your follies, like a little boy, in spite of your officer’s rank, because you have shown me that you are not fit to wear the sword entrusted to you for the defence of your country, and not for fighting duels with fools like yourself.  I shall write immediately to Andrej Karlovitch to beg him to send you away from Fort Belogorsk to some place still further removed, so that you may get over this folly.

“Upon hearing of your duel and wound your mother fell ill with sorrow, and she is still confined to her bed.

“What will become of you?  I pray God may correct you, though I scarcely dare trust in His goodness.

“Your father,

“A.G.”

The perusal of this letter aroused in me a medley of feelings.  The harsh expressions which my father had not scrupled to make use of hurt me deeply; the contempt which he cast on Marya Ivanofna appeared to me as unjust as it was unseemly; while, finally, the idea of being sent away from Fort Belogorsk dismayed me.  But I was, above all, grieved at my mother’s illness.

I was disgusted with Saveliitch, never doubting that it was he who had made known my duel to my parents.  After walking up and down awhile in my little room, I suddenly stopped short before him, and said to him, angrily—­

“It seems that it did not satisfy you that, thanks to you, I’ve been wounded and at death’s door, but that you must also want to kill my mother as well.”

Saveliitch remained motionless, as it struck by a thunderbolt.

“Have pity on me, sir,” he exclaimed, almost sobbing.  “What is it you deign to tell me—­that I am the cause of your wound?  But God knows I was only running to stand between you and Alexey Ivanytch’s sword.  Accursed old age alone prevented me.  What have I now done to your mother?”

“What did you do?” I retorted.  “Who told you to write and denounce me?  Were you put in my service to be a spy upon me?”