_Unlike some of the other younger Russian writers, Teleshov is wholly sound, sympathetic, and gentle in his writings. He takes his subjects wherever he can most easily lay his hand upon them--in the petty, gray, every-day life of the tradesman or from among the loose, unrestrained half-Bohemianism which is found in every great city._ [Illustration] THE DUEL BY NIKOLAI TELESHOV Translated by Lizzie B. Gorin. Copyright, 1907, by P. F. Collier & Son. It was early morning-- Vladímir Kladunov, a tall, graceful young man, twenty-two years of age, almost boyish in appearance, with a handsome face and thick, fair curls, dressed in the uniform of an officer and in long riding boots, minus overcoat and cap, stood upon a meadow covered with new-fallen snow, and gazed at another officer, a tall, red-faced, mustached man, who faced him at a distance of thirty paces, and was slowly lifting his hand in which he held a revolver, and aimed it straight at Vladímir. With his arms crossed over his breast and also holding in one hand a revolver, Kladunov, almost with indifference, awaited the shot of his opponent. His handsome, young face, though a little paler than usual, was alight with courage, and wore a scornful smile. His dangerous position, and the merciless determination of his adversary, the strenuous attention of the seconds who silently stood at one side, and the imminence of death, made the moment one of terrible intensity--mysterious, almost solemn. A question of honor was to be decided. Every one felt the importance of the question; the less they understood what they were doing, the deeper seemed the solemnity of the moment. A shot was fired; a shiver ran through all. Vladímir threw his hands about, bent his knees, and fell. He lay upon the snow, shot through the head, his hands apart, his hair, face, and even the snow around his head covered with blood. The seconds ran toward him and lifted him; the doctor certified his death, and the question of honor was solved. It only remained to announce the news to the regiment and to inform, as tenderly and carefully as possible, the mother, who was now left alone in the world, for the boy that had been killed was her only son. Before the duel no one had given her even a thought; but now they all became very thoughtful. All knew and loved her, and recognized the fact that she must be prepared by degrees for the terrible news. At last Iván Golubenko was chosen as most fit to tell the mother, and smooth out matters as much as possible. * * * * * Pelageia Petrovna had just risen, and was preparing her morning tea when Iván Golubenko, gloomy and confused, entered the room. “Just in time for tea, Iván Ivanovich!” amiably exclaimed the old lady, rising to meet her guest. “You have surely called to see Vladímir!”