The thought of a speedy separation so startled my mother, that she dropped the spoon into the saucepan, and tears coursed down her face. As for me, it would be difficult to describe my joy. My idea of the service was connected with visions of freedom, and the amusements a residence at Petersburg would afford. I already imagined myself an officer in the Guards, which, in my opinion, was the height of human felicity.
My father neither liked altering his plans, nor putting off their execution. The day for my departure was fixed. On the eve of that day he informed me that it was his intention to write to my future chief, and he called for paper and pen.
"Do not forget, Andrey Petrovitch," said my mother, "to remember me to Prince B, and say that I beg of him to take my Petrousha under his care."
"What nonsense!" cried my father, frowning. "What should I write to Prince B for?"
"Did you not yourself say you were going to write to Petrousha's chief?"
"Well! what of that?"
"Well, Petrousha's chief is Prince B. Petrousha is, as you know, on the strength of the Simionof regiment."
"On the strength! What is it to me that he is on the strength! Petrousha shall not go to Petersburg! What is he to learn by serving at Petersburg? To spend money and to get into trouble? No! Let him serve in the army; let him carry his knapsack; let him smell powder; let him become a soldier, and not a puppet in the Guards! Where is his passport? Let me have it."
