Sascha would abuse her, calling her "accursed one," and when we were going to the shop he said to me: "We shall have to do something to get her sent away. We 'll put salt in everything when she's not looking. If everything is cooked with too much salt, they will get rid of her. Or paraffin would do. What are you gaping about?" "Why don't you do it yourself?" He snorted angrily: "Coward!" The cook died under our very eyes. She bent down to pick up the samovar, and suddenly sank to the floor without uttering a word, just as if some one had given her a blow on the chest. She moved over on her side, stretched out her arms, and blood trickled from her mouth. We both understood in a flash that she was dead, but, stupefied by terror, we gazed at her a long time without strength to say a word. At last Sascha rushed headlong out of the kitchen, and I, not knowing what to do, pressed close to the window in the light. The master came in, fussily squatted down beside her, and touched her face with his finger. "She is dead; that's certain," he said. "What can have caused it?" He went into the corner where hung a small image of Nikolai Chudovortz and crossed himself; and when he had prayed he went to the door and commanded: "Kashirin, run quickly and fetch the police!" The police came, stamped about, received money for drinks, and went. They returned later, accompanied by a man with a cart, lifted the cook by the legs and the head, and carried her into the street. The mistress stood in the doorway and watched them. Then she said to me: "Wash the floor!" And the master said: "It is a good thing that she died in the evening." I could not understand why it was a good thing. When we went to bed Sascha said to me with unusual gentleness: "Don't put out the lamp!" "Are you afraid?" He covered his head with the blanket, and lay silent a long time. The night was very quiet, as if it were listening for something, waiting for something. It seemed to me that the next minute a bell rang out, and suddenly the whole town was running and shouting in a great terrified uproar. Sascha put his nose out of the blanket and suggested softly: "Let's go and lie on the stove together." "It is hot there." After a silence he said: "How suddenly she went off, did n't she? I am sure she was a witch. I can't get to sleep." "Nor I, either." He began to tell tales about dead people--how they came out of their graves and wandered till midnight about the town, seeking the place where they had lived and looking for their relations. "Dead people can only remember the town," he said softly; "but they forget the streets and houses at once." It became quieter and quieter and seemed to be getting darker. Sascha raised his head and asked: "Would you like to see what I have got in my trunk?" I had long wanted to know what he hid in his trunk. He kept it locked with a padlock, and always opened it with peculiar caution. If I tried to peep he would ask harshly: