"Damnation! . . . Rosalia Karlovna!" No answer. Vaxin hesitatingly opened the door and peeped into the room. The virtuous German was sweetly slumbering. The tiny flame of a night-light threw her solid buxom person into relief. Vaxin stepped into the room and sat down on a wickerwork trunk near the door. He felt better in the presence of a living creature, even though that creature was asleep. "Let the German idiot sleep," he thought, "I'll sit here, and when it gets light I'll go back. . . . It's daylight early now." Vaxin curled up on the trunk and put his arm under his head to await the coming of dawn. "What a thing it is to have nerves!" he reflected. "An educated, intelligent man! . . . Hang it all! . . . It's a perfect disgrace!" As he listened to the gentle, even breathing of Rosalia Karlovna, he soon recovered himself completely. At six o'clock, Vaxin's wife returned from the all-night service, and not finding her husband in their bedroom, went to the governess to ask her for some change for the cabman. On entering the German's room, a strange sight met her eyes. On the bed lay stretched Rosalia Karlovna fast asleep, and a couple of yards from her was her husband curled up on the trunk sleeping the sleep of the just and snoring loudly. What she said to her husband, and how he looked when he woke, I leave to others to describe. It is beyond my powers. A WORK OF ART SASHA SMIRNOV, the only son of his mother, holding under his arm, something wrapped up in No. 223 of the _Financial News_, assumed a sentimental expression, and went into Dr. Koshelkov's consulting-room. "Ah, dear lad!" was how the doctor greeted him. "Well! how are we feeling? What good news have you for me?" Sasha blinked, laid his hand on his heart and said in an agitated voice: "Mamma sends her greetings to you, Ivan Nikolaevitch, and told me to thank you. . . . I am the only son of my mother and you have saved my life . . . you have brought me through a dangerous illness and . . . we do not know how to thank you." "Nonsense, lad!" said the doctor, highly delighted. "I only did what anyone else would have done in my place." "I am the only son of my mother . . . we are poor people and cannot of course repay you, and we are quite ashamed, doctor, although, however, mamma and I . . . the only son of my mother, earnestly beg you to accept in token of our gratitude . . . this object, which . . . An object of great value, an antique bronze. . . . A rare work of art." "You shouldn't!" said the doctor, frowning. "What's this for!" "No, please do not refuse," Sasha went on muttering as he unpacked the parcel. "You will wound mamma and me by refusing. . . . It's a fine thing . . . an antique bronze. . . . It was left us by my deceased father and we have kept it as a precious souvenir. My father used to buy antique bronzes and sell them to connoisseurs . . . Mamma and I keep on the business now."