The colonel interrupted her sternly: "Why should you tell a falsehood?

The child read it in the newspapers. Let Sergey know that everybody--that those who are dearest to him--were thinking of him--at this time--and--"

He could not say any more and stopped. Suddenly the mother's face contracted, then it spread out, became agitated, wet and wild-looking.

Her discolored eyes stared blindly, and her breathing became more frequent, and briefer, louder.

"Se--Se--Se-Ser--" she repeated without moving her lips. "Ser--"

"Dear mother!"

The colonel strode forward, and all quivering in every fold of his coat, in every wrinkle of his face, not understanding how terrible he himself looked in his death-like whiteness, in his heroic, desperate firmness.

He said to his wife:

"Be silent! Don't torture him! Don't torture him! He has to die! Don't torture him!"

Frightened, she had already become silent, but he still shook his clenched fists before him and repeated:

"Don't torture him!"

Then he stepped back, placed his trembling hands behind his back, and loudly, with an expression of forced calm, asked with pale lips:

"When?"

"To-morrow morning," answered Sergey, his lips also pale.

The mother looked at the ground, chewing her lips, as if she did not hear anything. And continuing to chew, she uttered these simple words, strangely, as though they dropped like lead:

"Ninochka told me to kiss you, Seryozhenka."

"Kiss her for me," said Sergey.

"Very well. The Khvostovs send you their regards."

"Which Khvostovs? Oh, yes!"

The colonel interrupted:

"Well, we must go. Get up, mother; we must go." The two men lifted the weakened old woman.

"Bid him good-by!" ordered the colonel. "Make the sign of the cross."

She did everything as she was told. But as she made the sign of the cross, and kissed her son a brief kiss, she shook her head and murmured weakly:

"No, it isn't the right way! It is not the right way! What will I say?

How will I say it? No, it is not the right way!"

"Good-by, Sergey!" said the father. They shook hands, and kissed each other quickly but heartily.

"You--" began Sergey.

"Well?" asked the father abruptly.

"No, no! It is not the right way! How shall I say it?" repeated the mother weakly, nodding her head. She had sat down again and was rocking herself back and forth.

"You--" Sergey began again. Suddenly his face wrinkled pitiably, childishly, and his eyes filled with tears immediately. Through the sparkling gleams of his tears he looked closely into the white face of his father, whose eyes had also filled.

"You, father, are a n.o.ble man!"

"What is that? What are you saying?" said the colonel, surprised. And then suddenly, as if broken in two, he fell with his head upon his son's shoulder. He had been taller than Sergey, but now he became short, and his dry, downy head lay like a white ball upon his son's shoulder. And they kissed silently and pa.s.sionately: Sergey kissed the silvery white hair, and the old man kissed the prisoner's garb.

"And I?" suddenly said a loud voice.

They looked around. Sergey's mother was standing, her head thrown back, looking at them angrily, almost with contempt.

"What is it, mother?" cried the colonel.

"And I?" she said, shaking her head with insane intensity. "You kiss--and I? You men! Yes? And I? And I?"

"Mother!" Sergey rushed over to her.

What took place then it is unnecessary and impossible to describe... .

The last words of the colonel were:

"I give you my blessing for your death, Seryozha. Die bravely, like an officer."

And they went away. Somehow they went away. They had been there, they had stood, they had spoken--and suddenly they had gone. Here sat his mother, there stood his father--and suddenly somehow they had gone away.

Returning to the cell, Sergey lay down on the cot, his face turned toward the wall, in order to hide it from the soldiers, and he wept for a long time. Then, exhausted by his tears, he slept soundly.

To Vasily Kashirin only his mother came. His father, who was a wealthy tradesman, did not want to come. Vasily met the old woman, as he was pacing up and down the room, trembling with cold, although it was warm, even hot. And the conversation was brief, painful.

"It wasn't worth coming, mother. You'll only torture yourself and me."

"Why did you do it, Vasya? Why did you do it? Oh, Lord!" The old woman burst out weeping, wiping her face with the ends of her black, woolen kerchief. And with the habit which he and his brothers had always had of crying at their mother, who did not understand anything, he stopped, and, shuddering as with cold, spoke angrily:

"There! You see! I knew it! You understand nothing, mother! Nothing!"

"Well--well--all right! Do you feel--cold?"

"Cold!" Vasily answered bluntly, and again began to pace the room, looking at his mother askance, as if annoyed.

"Perhaps you have caught cold?"

"Oh, mother what is a cold, when--" and he waved his hand helplessly.

The old woman was about to say: "And your father ordered wheat cakes beginning with Monday," but she was frightened, and said:

"I told him: 'It is your son, you should go, give him your blessing.'

No, the old beast persisted--"