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Updated: May 9, 2025
"What does it matter if we are all together. I will work and dig in the garden, and Boris can be taught to groom Toulu, and be useful he really can be very sensible if he likes. Then Var-Vara will cook, and Adam and Daria can do the dusting. Oh, we shall manage beautifully!" Madame Olsheffsky smiled through some tears. "You are a dear child, Elena!
It seemed impossible to realize that their father had really come back to them, and that he was dearer and kinder than anything they had imagined! "If only mamma were here," sighed Elena, "how happy we should be!" "Perhaps she knows," said Boris soberly. "She always told us papa was a hero, and I'm sure he looks like one." André Olsheffsky felt his wife's loss deeply.
Olsheffsky had insisted on his not removing, became objects of the greatest pride and joy to him. He never allowed anyone but himself to dust them, and in spare moments he polished the looking-glass with a piece of leather, kept carefully for the purpose in a cigar box.
He felt that all this happiness had been brought about entirely by his own exertions, and he already had visions of the manner in which he would employ the handsome reward. "No more troubling about my old age," he thought. "I shall have as comfortable a life as the best of them." That evening Mr. Olsheffsky started for Moscow, carrying the parchments with him.
Her boat had been upset and carried away, with the sudden force of the current, and though Alexis managed to save himself by clinging to an uprooted pine tree, Madame Olsheffsky had been torn from him, and sucked under by the rush of the furious water.
"Where are the children?" said André Olsheffsky, brokenly. "Perhaps they're dead, too?" "Oh, the children are all well, Barin! They are at Volodia Ivanovitch's." "Drive me there, then," said Mr. Olsheffsky; and the sledge dashed off with a peal of its bells, and drew up with a flourish in front of Volodia's doorway.
Madame Olsheffsky, however, refused to put off her visit; and Elena, Boris, and Daria, looking out from the balcony, saw the boat with the two figures in it start off from the little landing-place, and grow smaller and smaller, until it faded away into a dim speck in the distance.
Some large hydrangeas, and orange trees, in green tubs, made a background to the little scene. The eager children with clumsy fingers, bent on being useful; the pale, thin mother leaning back in her garden chair smiling at their absorbed faces. "Children, I have something I must tell you," commenced Madame Olsheffsky, seriously, when the last seeds had been put away and labelled.
Between the lake and the gardens of the great house, lay Viletna, with its rough log houses, sandy street, and great Church, crowned with a cupola like a gaily-painted melon; where Elena, Boris, and Daria, the three children of Madame Olsheffsky, drove every Sunday with their mother in the old-fashioned, tumble-down carriage.
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