sister seized Kondryashka by the ears and they began to kiss each other. Then the grandmother's death, her recollections of her son before she died, and the especial character of the mother's sorrow—all this is so firmly and concisely drawn, and it is all his own. I said more about the father's return than of anything else when I gave them the theme of the story. This scene pleased me, and I described it with sentimental insipidity; but this same scene also pleased him very much, and he asked me not to say anything: "Don't tell me," said he, "I know, I know." And from this place he wrote the rest of the story at a sitting.
It will be very interesting to me to know the opinion of other judges, but I consider it my duty to express my opinion with frankness. I have not met anything like these pages in all Russian literature. In the whole scene of the meeting there is not one hint that it is affecting; it is simply told how the matter was, but out of all that took place only that is told which is indispensable for the reader to comprehend the position of all the persons. The soldier in his house said only three sentences. At first, when he had already braced himself up, he said:—
Zdravstvuïte—"How are you?"<ref>A common salutation: "Hail," or "Good morning," or "Good day," or "Good evening," or "God bless you."<ref>
When he began to forget the part he was assuming, he said:—
"Well, is this all the family you have?"
And all was betrayed in the words:—
Gdye-zh moya mamushka?—"Where is my dear mother?"
What perfectly simple and natural words, and not one of the characters forgotten! The boy was glad, and even shed tears; but he was a boy, and therefore, though his father was weeping, he was examining everything in his sack and in his pockets. Not even the sister is forgotten. So you see that buxom little peasant woman in her fine shoes comes modestly into the izba and, without saying anything, kisses her father. And
