"God is compassionate," repeated the priest, when she had grown a little calmer. "I will tell you, in my parish there was a sick man, and much worse than Márya Dmítrievna, and he, though he was only a shopkeeper,[93] was cured in a very short time, by means of herbs. And this very same shopkeeper is now in Moscow. I have told Vasíli Dmítrievitch about him; it might be tried, you know. At all events, it would satisfy the invalid. With God, all things are possible." [Footnote 93: _meshchánin._] "No, she won't get well," persisted the old lady. "Why should God have taken her, and not me?" And again the hysterical sobbing overcame her so violently that she fainted away. The invalid's husband hid his face in his hands, and rushed from the room. In the corridor the first person whom he met was a six-year-old boy, who was chasing his little sister with all his might and main. "Do you bid me take the children to their mamma?" inquired the nurse. "No, she is not able to see them. They distract her." The lad stopped for a moment, and after looking eagerly into his father's face, he cut a dido with his leg, and with merry shouts ran on. "I'm playing she's a horse, papásha," cried the little fellow, pointing to his sister. Meantime, in the next room, the cousin had taken her seat near the sick woman, and was skilfully bringing the conversation by degrees round so as to prepare her for the thought of death. The doctor stood by the window, mixing some draught. The invalid in a white dressing-gown, all surrounded by cushions, was sitting up in bed, and gazed silently at her cousin. "Ah, my dear!" she exclaimed, unexpectedly interrupting her, "don't try to prepare me; don't treat me like a little child! I am a Christian woman. I know all about it. I know that I have not long to live; I know that if my husband had heeded me sooner, I should have been in Italy, and possibly, yes probably, should have been well by this time. They all told him so. But what is to be done? it's as God saw fit. We all of us have sinned, I know that; but I hope in the mercy of God, that all will be pardoned, ought to be pardoned. I am trying to sound my own heart. I also have committed many sins, my love. But how much I have suffered in atonement! I have tried to bear my sufferings patiently".... "Then shall I have the confessor come in, my love? It will be all the easier for you, after you have been absolved," said the cousin. The sick woman dropped her head in token of assent. "O God! pardon me a sinner," she whispered. The cousin went out, and beckoned to the confessor. "She is an angel," she said to the husband, with tears in her eyes. The husband wept. The priest went into the sick-room; the old lady still remained unconscious, and in the room beyond all was perfectly quiet. At the end of five minutes the confessor came out, and, taking off his stole, arranged his hair. "Thanks be to the Lord, she is calmer now," said he. "She wishes to see you."