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Updated: June 22, 2025
"Tell Edouard Vicentevitch to come out to me," ordered the general's wife. The doctor was called, and in great confusion confirmed the general's orders. "But perhaps he did not think that such an order could apply to me?" she said, astonished.
Meanwhile the dying man followed the doctor with anxious eyes, and as soon as the latter closed the large traveling dispatch box he stretched out his hand to him for the keys. "So long as I am alive, I will keep them!" he murmured, putting the bunch of keys away in his pocket. "And when I am dead, I intrust them to you, Edouard Vicentevitch. Take care of them, as a last service to me!"
The doctor hastily slipped out of the room; he feared the result of emotion on the sick man, and wished to warn the general's wife of his grave danger, but the sick man noticed the move, and it was impossible to guard him against disturbance. "What is going on there?" he asked. "What are you mumbling about, Edouard Vicentevitch? Tell me what is the matter? Is it my daughter?"
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!
The doctor hastily assented, though, to tell the truth, he was not thinking of anything at the moment, except the strange manner in which the general's wife, while talking, pressed close to her companion. At that moment a bell rang, and the general's loud voice was heard: "Doctor! Edouard Vicentevitch!" "Coming!" answered the doctor.
This was only a passing expression, however; it rapidly gave place to sorrow, when she saw the manservant coming from the sick man. "What is the matter with your master, Yakov? Is he worse?" "No, madam. God has been gracious. He told me to push the box nearer him, and ordered Edouard Vicentevitch to open it. He wants to send some telegram or other." "Thank God, he is not worse.
Petersburg, shrouded in chilly mist, when Edouard Vicentevitch Polesski struck his brow in despair; he had suddenly remembered the keys and the box, committed to his care by the dying man. At that moment, the body, dressed in full uniform, with all his regalia, was lying in the great, darkened room on a table, covered with brocade, awaiting the coffin and the customary wreaths.
"Yes, it is a long way!" assented the general's wife, evidently busy with other thoughts. "But tell me, Edouard Vicentevitch, this new will, has it been written long?" "It was drawn up only to-day. The draft was prepared last week, but the general kept putting it off. But when his pains began this morning. . . ." "Is it the end? Is it dangerous?" interrupted Olga Vseslavovna.
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