The Living and the Dying
As I sat at my work, Ilyá Vasílyevitch entered softly and, evidently reluctant to disturb me at my work, told me that some wayfarers and a woman had been waiting a long time to see me.
“Here,” I said, “please take this, and give it them.”
“The woman has come about some business.”
I told him to ask her to wait a while, and continued my work. By the time I came out, I had quite forgotten about her, till I saw a young peasant woman with a long, thin face, and clad very poorly and too lightly for the weather, appear from behind a corner of the house.
“What do you want? What is the matter?”
“I’ve come to see you, your Honour.”
“Yes … what about? What is the matter?”
“To see you, your Honour.”
“Well, what is it?”
“He’s been taken wrongfully. … I’m left with three children.”
“Who’s been taken, and where to?”
“My husband … sent off to Krapívny.”
“Why? What for?”