XLIII + 

Suddenly a bell rings. Natasha gives a start. + 

Ours? No. The bell rang so timidly, so hesitatingly. It was as though she heard it ring in a dream, and not in reality; again, it might have been the ring of some mischievous urchin. + 

Perhaps she had only imagined it. It is so comfortable to doze. She feels too lazy to get up. Let them ring. + 

But here is a second ring, more insistent and louder. + 

Natasha jumps up and runs into the vestibule, rearranging her hair on the way. Remembering that she is alone in the house she does not open the door, but asks: “Who’s there?” + 

From behind the door she can hear the low, somewhat hoarse voice of the telegraph boy: “A telegram.” + 

Her heart begins to beat with fright. It is always terrible to receive telegrams. For only good news travels slowly. Bad news makes haste. + 

Natasha puts one end of the door-chain to a little hook in the door. Then she opens the door partly and looks out. There stands the messenger in his uniform, with a metal plate in his cap. He hands her the telegram. + 

“Sign here, miss.” + 

The grey-white, dry paper trembles in Natasha’s hands. Natasha feels a sudden tug at her heart. She speaks incoherently: + 

“What is it? Oh my God! Sign, did you say?” + 

She runs to the table. Her hands tremble. She has managed somehow to scrawl her family name “Ozoreva,” the pen hesitating and scratching upon the grey paper. + 

“Here is the signature.” + 

Across the little door-chain she thrusts the signed paper and a tip into the hand of the messenger. Then she bangs the door to after him. Now she is in front of the lamp. What can it be? + 

Tearing the seal open she reads. Terrible words. Such simple, yet such incomprehensible words. Because they are about Boris. + 

“Boris has shot ⸻. Arrested with comrades. Military trial tomorrow. Death sentence threatened.” + 