_Monday Afternoon._--No, it was not Paul. Only Nicholas Alexandrovitch. He had heard in the village that I was making preparations for a journey, and came to inquire about it, and to reproach me for not telling him. He looked relieved when I told him it was only to Moscow to look after Paul. I fancy he thought I had had a fit of remorse for my morning's devotions, and was off to seek readmission into the fold. Except our innkeeper, there is not a Jew in this truly God-forsaken place. Of course, I don't reckon myself--or the doctor. I wonder if our pope is a Jew! I laugh--but who knows? Anyhow I am here, wrapped in my thickest fur cloak, while it is Nicholas who is on the road to Moscow. He spoke truly in saying I was too weak yet to undertake the journey--that springless _paracladnoi_ alone is enough to knock a healthy man up; though whether he was equally veracious in professing to have business to transact in Moscow, I cannot say. _Da_, he is a good fellow, is my brother Nicholas. To-morrow I shall know if anything has happened to my son, to my only child. _Tuesday Night._--Thank God! A wire from Nicholas. "Have seen Paul. No cause for uneasiness. Will write." Blessings on you, my friend, for the trouble you have taken for me. I feel much better already. Paul has, I suppose, been throwing himself heart and soul into this new journalistic work, and has forgotten his loving father. After all, it is only a fortnight, though it has seemed months. Anyhow, he will write. I shall hear from him in a day or two now. But a sudden thought. "Will write." Who will write? Paul or Nicholas? Oh, Paul; Paul without doubt. Nicholas has told him of my anxiety. Yes. To-morrow night or the next morning I shall have a letter from Paul. All is well. If I were to tell Paul the truth, I wonder what he would say! I am afraid I shall never know. _Thursday Noon._--A letter from Nicholas. I cannot do better than place it here.