“All right,” resumed my father; “it is time he should serve.  ’Tis time he should cease running in and out of the maids’ rooms and climbing into the dovecote.”

The thought of a coming separation made such an impression on my mother that she dropped her spoon into her saucepan, and her eyes filled with tears.  As for me, it is difficult to express the joy which took possession of me.  The idea of service was mingled in my mind with the liberty and pleasures offered by the town of Petersburg.  I already saw myself officer of the Guard, which was, in my opinion, the height of human happiness.

My father neither liked to change his plans, nor to defer the execution of them.  The day of my departure was at once fixed.  The evening before my father told me that he was going to give me a letter for my future superior officer, and bid me bring him pen and paper.

“Don’t forget, Andrej Petrovitch,” said my mother, “to remember me to Prince Banojik; tell him I hope he will do all he can for my Petrousha.”

“What nonsense!” cried my father, frowning.  “Why do you wish me to write to Prince Banojik?”

“But you have just told us you are good enough to write to Petrousha’s superior officer.”

“Well, what of that?”

“But Prince Banojik is Petrousha’s superior officer.  You know very well he is on the roll of the Semenofsky regiment.”

“On the roll!  What is it to me whether he be on the roll or no?  Petrousha shall not go to Petersburg!  What would he learn there?  To spend money and commit follies.  No, he shall serve with the army, he shall smell powder, he shall become a soldier and not an idler of the Guard, he shall wear out the straps of his knapsack.  Where is his commission?  Give it to me.”

My mother went to find my commission, which she kept in a box with my christening clothes, and gave it to my father with, a trembling hand.  My father read it with attention, laid it before him on the table, and began his letter.

Curiosity pricked me.

“Where shall I be sent,” thought I, “if not to Petersburg?”

I never took my eyes off my father’s pen as it travelled slowly over the paper.  At last he finished his letter, put it with my commission into the same cover, took off his spectacles, called me, and said—­

“This letter is addressed to Andrej Karlovitch R., my old friend and comrade.  You are to go to Orenburg[9] to serve under him.”

All my brilliant expectations and high hopes vanished.  Instead of the gay and lively life of Petersburg, I was doomed to a dull life in a far and wild country.  Military service, which a moment before I thought would be delightful, now seemed horrible to me.  But there was nothing for it but resignation.  On the morning of the following day a travelling kibitka stood before the hall door.  There were packed in it a trunk and a box containing a tea service, and some napkins tied up full of rolls and little cakes, the last I should get of home pampering.