"Upon entering the ward I saw at once that there were three there who would not be long upon this earth, for they remained motionless as I advanced. But the others brightened up at my coming, trying to check their troublesome coughs, and even, where strong enough, raising themselves to greet me. "During my conversation with them I asked if {230} those so near their end had received Holy Communion. Upon this point I was reassured, and was much comforted to see how anxious were those not yet about to die that their fellow-sufferers should receive this consolation when the end approached. "I noticed as I passed along the ward a specially young and handsome face, the face of one of the three about to breathe their last. I drew closer, and silently watched him for a few moments, fearing to rouse him, for his eyes were closed, and his breath was short and interrupted. Bright red spots burnt upon his cheeks. "As I stood thus his neighbour called him, and, looking above his bed, I read the name, 'Paul Rostchin.' "'Why do you disturb him?' I asked. The man explained that Rostchin expected me, and wished to ask me something, and that when he regained consciousness he would be very sad that he had not been roused to speak to me. "'After some time, Rostchin opened his eyes. I shall never forget their expression. It was a mingling of pain and hope and entreaty. He tried hard to speak, but, although his lips moved, I could hear no sound. "Gently I tried to soothe him, begging him to be calm, and telling him that I was in no hurry, and would wait until I understood what it was he wished to say to me. "At last I caught one word, 'Mother.' 'Ah!' said I, 'you are calling your mother; you want to see her; perhaps I could find her. Where does she live?' {231} "'She is far from here,' he whispered, 'and cannot come.' "My heart ached for him. It was pitiful to hear him in these his last moments calling for his mother. I bent over him and said: "'Your own mother, as you say, is far from here; but God has sent me to comfort you. Can you not count me your spiritual mother, and confide in me, when I come to you and sit with you and listen to all you have to say?' "His face brightened at the thought, and a little strength seemed to return. 'I have something,' he said, 'to tell her before I die.' "Then I begged him to say to me what he wished to say to her, promising that I would hear it as though I were his mother. Hardly had I said this than the man on the bed at our right, being able to walk, got up and moved away, and the other, who was not equal to that effort, turned his back to us, that he might not hear. I was touched at the feeling displayed by these apparently rough, though simple Russian men.