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"Funny?" (I was listening to her with strained attention. I imagined that she really was hysterical, and . . . was speaking, perhaps, not for my benefit; but I could not resist the question.)

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"Oh yes, funny, and how I should have laughed, if . . . if I hadn't been frightened. Though I'm not such a coward, don't think it; but I didn't sleep all night after that letter, it seemed written in blood and frenzy . . . and after such a letter what was left to come. I love life, I'm horribly afraid for my life, I'm horribly cowardly in that. . . . Ah, listen," she cried, suddenly darting at me, "go to him, he's alone now, he can't be there still, most likely he's gone off somewhere alone; make haste and find him, you must make haste, run to him, show him that you are his son and love him, prove that you are the dear kind boy, my student whom I . . . Oh, God give you happiness, I love nobody, and it is better so, but I want every one to be happy, every one, and him above all, and let him know that . . . at once . . . I should be very glad."

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She got up and suddenly disappeared behind the curtain. At that instant tears were shining on her face (hysterical after her laughter). I remained alone, agitated and confused. I was completely at a loss to what to ascribe such emotion in her, an emotion which I never should have suspected. Something seemed to be clutching at my heart. I waited five minutes, ten; the profound silence suddenly struck me, and I ventured to peep out of the door, and to call. In answer to my call Marya appeared and informed me in the most stolid tone, that the lady had put on her things long, long ago and gone out by the back way.