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Updated: June 20, 2025
It was I . . . in the night . . . the flowers fell . . . I was putting them back . . . fixing the head of your sainted papa. . . . It was under his head, the paper . . . I thought he wanted to keep it. . . . I put it in his hands, to be safe! . . . Forgive me, Anna Iurievna, if I have done any harm." It was the deacon, still oppressed by a feeling of guilt.
The servants, returning to announce that the bedroom was ready, were ordered by Anna Iurievna to lift the fainting woman with all care and gentleness, and she herself went with them to see the general's wife safely bestowed in her room, and waited while the doctor did all in his power to make her more comfortable. Olga Vseslavovna did not at once recover consciousness.
Anna Iurievna turned to him, and then turned back again, to her father's body, to the white object shining under the muslin canopy. And once more Olga Vseslavovna's words came into her mind: "The will! In his hands! Take it!" Gently raising the canopy, she softly drew the paper from beneath the general's clasped hands, and unfolded it.
The conclusions of the physicians, though they differed completely in detail, were similar in the main, and far from comforting; the life and continued suffering of the sick man could not last more than a few days. In the evening a telegram came from Anna Iurievna; she informed her father that she would be with him on the following day, at five in the afternoon. "Shall I be able to hold out?
She seemed to pass from a faint into an uneasy slumber, which, however, gradually became more quiet. Only then, as she was leaving the room, did Anna Iurievna bethink her of the strange words that had fallen on her ears: "The will! In his hands! Take it!" And repeating them questioningly to herself, she walked slowly back toward the room in which lay her father's body.
Oh, yes, the announcement of his death. Very good. Send it, please. But I must dress at once. The funeral service will begin immediately." "Doctor! Is the doctor here?" an anxious voice sounded in the corridor. "I am coming! What is it?" "Please come quick, Edouard Vicentevitch!" Yakov called him. "The lady is very ill downstairs; Anna Iurievna, the general's daughter!
"Your excellency, I beg of you to take care of yourself!" the doctor was beginning, evidently quite familiar with the general's family affairs, and therefore dreading the meeting of husband and wife. "It is not Anna Iurievna...." "Aha!" the sick man interrupted him; "she has come? Very well. Let her come in. Only the little one ... I don't wish her to come ... to-day."
She seemed to pass from a faint into an uneasy slumber, which, however, gradually became more quiet. Only then, as she was leaving the room, did Anna Iurievna bethink her of the strange words that had fallen on her ears: "The will! In his hands! Take it!" And repeating them questioningly to herself, she walked slowly back toward the room in which lay her father's body.
Anna Iurievna knew that her husband despised her stepmother; that he detested her as the cause of all the grief which they had had to endure through her, and most of all, on account of the injustice she was guilty of toward her brother, the general's son. For six years Borisoff had lived with young Peter Nazimoff, as his tutor and teacher, and loved him sincerely.
Oh, yes, the announcement of his death. Very good. Send it, please. But I must dress at once. The funeral service will begin immediately." "Doctor! Is the doctor here?" an anxious voice sounded in the corridor. "I am coming! What is it?" "Please come quick, Edouard Vicentevitch!" Yakov called him. "The lady is very ill downstairs; Anna Iurievna, the general's daughter!
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