Malanya Pavlovna worshipped her husband, and all her life remained an exemplary and faithful wife.  But there had been an “object” in her life also, a young nephew, a hussar, who had been slain, so she assumed, in a duel on her account—–­but, according to more trustworthy information, he had died from a blow received on the head from a billiard-cue, in tavern company.  The water-colour portrait of this “object” was preserved by her in a secret casket.  Malanya Pavlovna crimsoned to the very ears every time she alluded to Kapitonushka—­that was the “object’s” name;—­while Alexyei Sergyeitch scowled intentionally, again menaced his wife with his little finger and said, “Trust not a horse in the meadow, a wife in the house!  Okh, that Kapitonushka, Kupidonushka!”—­Then Malanya Pavlovna bristled up all over and exclaimed: 

“Alexis, shame on you, Alexis!—­You yourself probably flirted with divers little ladies in your youth—­and so you take it for granted....”

“Come, that will do, that will do, Malaniushka,” Alexyei Sergyeitch interrupted her, with a smile;—­“thy gown is white, and thy soul is whiter still!”

“It is whiter, Alexis; it is whiter!”

“Okh, what a naughty little tongue, on my honour, what a naughty little tongue!” repeated Alexyei Sergyeitch, tapping her on the cheek.

To mention Malanya Pavlovna’s “convictions” would be still more out of place than to mention those of Alexyei Sergyeitch; but I once chanced to be the witness of a strange manifestation of my aunt’s hidden feelings.  I once chanced, in the course of conversation, to mention the well-known Sheshkovsky.[44] Malanya Pavlovna suddenly became livid in the face,—­as livid as a corpse,—­turned green, despite the layer of paint and powder, and in a dull, entirely-genuine voice (which very rarely happened with her—­as a general thing she seemed always somewhat affected, assumed an artificial tone and lisped) said:  “Okh! whom hast thou mentioned!  And at nightfall, into the bargain!—­Don’t utter that name!” I was amazed; what significance could that name possess for such an inoffensive and innocent being, who would not have known how to devise, much less to execute, anything reprehensible?—­This alarm, which revealed itself after a lapse of nearly half a century, induced in me reflections which were not altogether cheerful.

Alexyei Sergyeitch died in his eighty-eighth year, in the year 1848, which evidently disturbed even him.  And his death was rather strange.  That morning he had felt well, although he no longer quitted his arm-chair at all.  But suddenly he called to his wife:  “Malaniushka, come hither!”

“What dost thou want, Alexis?”

“It is time for me to die, that’s what, my darling.”

“God be with you, Alexyei Sergyeitch!  Why so?”

“This is why.  In the first place, one must show moderation; and more than that; I was looking at my legs a little while ago ... they were strange legs—­and that settles it!—­I looked at my hands—–­and those were strange also!  I looked at my belly—­and the belly belonged to some one else!—­Which signifies that I am devouring some other person’s life.[45] Send for the priest; and in the meanwhile, lay me on my bed, from which I shall not rise again.”