Princess Marya went out again into the garden, and by the pond at the bottom of the hill she sat down on the grass, in a place where no one could see her. She could not have said how long she was there. A woman’s footsteps running along the path made her look round. She got up and saw Dunyasha, her maid, evidently running to look for her, stop short, as though in alarm, on seeing her mistress.
‘Come, please, princess . . . the prince . . .’ said Dunyasha, in a breaking voice.
‘I’m coming, I'm coming!’ the princess cried hurriedly, not letting Dunyasha have time to say what she meant to; and trying to avoid seeing her, she ran into the house.
‘Princess, it is God’s will! You must be prepared for the worst,’ said the marshal, meeting her at the door into the house.
‘Let me be; it’s not true!’ she cried angrily at him.
The doctor tried to stop her. She pushed him away and ran to the door. ‘What are these people with scared faces stopping me for? I don’t want any of them! What are they doing here?’ she thought. She opened the door, and the bright daylight in the room, always hitherto darkened, frightened her. Her old nurse and other women were in the room. They all drew back from the bed, making way for her. He was still lying on
the bed as before; but the stern look on his calm face arrested Princess
Marya on the threshold. ‘No, he is not dead, it cannot be! ’ Princess Marya said to herself. She I
went up to him, and struggling with the terror that came upon her, she
pressed her lips to his cheek. But she started back from him at once.
Instantaneously all the tenderness she had been feeling for him vanished, and was followed by a feeling of horror for what lay before her.
‘No, no, he is no more! He is no more, and here in the place where he
was, is something unfamiliar and sinister, some fearful, terrifying, and
repulsive secret! ’ And hiding her face in her hands, Princess Marya sank
into the arms of the doctor, who supported her. In the presence of Tihon and the doctor, the women washed what had
been the prince, bound a kerchief round the head that the mouth might
not become rigidly open, and bound another kerchief round the limbs.
Then the uniform with the decorations was put on, and the little dried-up
body was laid on the table. There was no telling when or who took
thought for all this; it all seemed to be done of itself. Towards night
candles were lighted round the coffin, a pall was laid over it, juniper
was strewn on the floor, a printed prayer was put under the dead
withered head, and a deacon sat in the corner reading aloud the Psalter.
Like horses crowding, snorting, and starting round a dead horse, numbers
of familiar and unfamiliar figures crowded round the coffin—the marshal,
and the village elder, and peasant women, and all with scared and fascinated eyes, crossed themselves, and bowed down and kissed the cold,
stiff hand of the old prince.
IX
