that he had the money untouched. He’d no sooner paid it than he fell ill, took to his bed, and, three weeks later, softening of the brain set in, and he died five days afterwards. He was buried with military honors, for he had not had time to receive his discharge. Ten days after his funeral, Katerina Ivanovna, with her aunt and sister, went to Moscow. And, behold, on the very day they went away (I hadn’t seen them, didn’t see them off or take leave) I received a tiny note, a sheet of thin blue paper, and on it only one line in pencil: > ‘I will write to you. Wait. K. ’ And that was
“I’ll explain the rest now, in two words.
In Moscow their fortunes changed with the swiftness of lightning and the unexpectedness of an Arabian fairytale. That general’s widow, their nearest relation, suddenly lost the two nieces who were her heiresses and next-of-kin—both died in the same week of smallpox.
The old lady, prostrated with grief, welcomed Katya as a daughter, as her one hope, clutched at her, altered her will in Katya’s favor. But that concerned the future. Meanwhile she gave her, for present use, eighty thousand roubles, as a marriage portion, to do what she liked with.
She was an hysterical woman. I saw something of her in Moscow, later.
“Well, suddenly I received by post four thousand five hundred roubles. I was speechless with surprise, as you may suppose. Three days later came the promised letter. I have it with me now. You must read it. She offers to be my wife, offers herself to me. > ‘I love you madly,’ she says, ‘even if you don’t love me, never mind. Be my husband. Don’t