IV + 

At length Nadezhda Alexevna reached her sister’s home, and went up the staircase to the fourth floor. It was a narrow stone staircase with very steep flights of stairs, and she went up so quickly, almost running, that she lost her breath, and stopped outside the door to rest before going in. She breathed heavily, holding on to the balustrade with her woollen-gloved hand. + 

The door was covered with felt, over which oilcloth had been stretched, and on this oilcloth was a cross of narrow black strips, partly, perhaps, for ornament, partly for strength. One of the strips was half torn off and hanging down, and behind it, through a hole in the oilcloth, protruded the grey felt. For some reason or other this suddenly seemed pitiful and painful to Nadezhda Alexevna. Her shoulders heaved quickly. Covering her face with her hands she burst into loud sobbing. She felt suddenly weak, and sitting down hastily on the top step she wept. For a long time she sat there hiding her face in her hands. A warm rain of tears flowed over her woollen gloves. + 

It was nearly dark, and very cold and silent on the staircase⁠—the doors on the landing stood dumb and rigid. Long, long she wept.⁠ ⁠… Then suddenly she heard a light, familiar step, and as she waited in expectation she felt her child come nearer and put his arms about her neck. His cheek pressed close to hers, and his warm little fingers tried to push away the hands which were screening and hiding her face. He put his lips to her cheek and whispered gently: + 

“Why do you weep? How can you have done wrong?” + 

Silently she sat and listened; she dare not move or open her eyes lest the child should disappear. She let her right hand drop on to her knee, but still kept her eyes covered with the left. Gradually her weeping became less; she must not frighten the child with her woman’s tears, the tears of a sinful woman. + 

And the child went on, kissing her cheek as he spoke, “You haven’t done wrong at all.” + 

Then he spoke again, and now his words were those of Serezha: + 

“I don’t want to live in this world. I’m very thankful to you, mother dear.” + 

And again: + 

“Indeed, dear mother, I don’t want to be alive.” + 

These words had sounded terrible in her ears when Serezha had spoken them⁠—terrible because spoken by one who, having received from unseen Powers the living form of mankind, ought to have held as a precious treasure the life committed to his care, and not have wished to destroy it. But these same words, spoken by the child who had never been born into this world, rejoiced his mother’s heart. Gently and timidly, as if afraid of frightening him by the sound of an earthly voice, she asked: + 

“And my dear one forgives me?” + 

And heard the answer: + 

“You haven’t done wrong at all; yet if you want to hear me say so, ‘I forgive you.’ ” + 

And suddenly her heart overflowed with a foretaste of an unlooked-for happiness. Hardly daring to hope, hardly knowing what to expect, she slowly and fearfully stretched out her hands⁠—and felt her child on her knees, with his little hands on her shoulders, his lips pressed close to hers in a long, long kiss. + 

Her eyes were fast closed still, for she feared to look on that which it is not given to mankind to see, yet it seemed to her that the child’s eyes looked into hers⁠—and that he breathed a blessing upon her⁠—and shone upon her like a Sun. + 

Then she felt the arms unclose, and on the staircase she heard the light patter of feet, and knew that the child was gone. + 

She got up, dried her tears, and rang the bell. When she went in to her sister she was full of calm and happiness, she had power to strengthen and console. + 