“He lay dying before me, sir. I sat on the window-seat with some work I had on hand lying on my lap. The old woman was raking the stove. We were all silent, and my heart was breaking over this poor, shiftless creature, as if he were my own son whom I was losing. I knew that Emelian was gazing at me all the time; I noticed from the earliest morning that he longed to tell me something, but seemingly dared not. At last I looked at him, and saw that he did not take his eyes from me, but that whenever his eyes met mine, he immediately lowered his own. “‘Astafi Ivanich!’ “‘What, Emelian?’ “‘What if my cloak should be carried over to the old clothes market, would they give much for it, Astafi Ivanich?’ “‘Well,’ I said, ‘I do not know for certain, but three rubles they would probably give for it, Emelian.’ I said it only to comfort the simple-minded creature; in reality they would have laughed in my face for even thinking to sell such a miserable, ragged thing. “‘And I thought that they might give a little more, Astafi Ivanich. It is made of cloth, so how is it that they would not wish to pay more than three rubles for it?’ “‘Well, Emelian, if you wish to sell it, then of course you may ask more for it at first.’ “Emelian was silent for a moment, then he once more called to me. “‘Astafi Ivanich!’ “‘What is it, Emelian?’ “‘You will sell the cloak after I am no more; no need of burying me in it, I can well get along without it; it is worth something, and may come handy to you.’ “Here I felt such a painful gripping at my heart as I can not even express, sir. I saw that the sadness of approaching death had already come upon the man. Again we were silent for some time. About an hour passed in this way. I looked at him again and saw that he was still gazing at me, and when his eyes met mine he immediately lowered his. “‘Would you like a drink of cold water?’ I asked him. “‘Give me some, and may God repay you, Astafi Ivanich.’ “‘Would you like anything else, Emelian?’ “‘No, Astafi Ivanich, I do not want anything, but I--’ “‘What?’ “‘You know that--’ “‘What is it you want, Emelian?’ “‘The breeches.--You know.--It was I who took them--Astafi Ivanich--’ “‘Well,’ I said, ‘the great God will forgive you, Emelian, poor, unfortunate fellow that you are! Depart in peace.’ “And I had to turn away my head for a moment because grief for the poor devil took my breath away and the tears came in torrents from my eyes. “‘Astafi Ivanich!--’ “I looked at him, saw that he wished to tell me something more, tried to raise himself, and was moving his lips.--He reddened and looked at me.--Suddenly I saw that he began to grow paler and paler; in a moment he fell with his head thrown back, breathed once, and gave his soul into God’s keeping.” [Illustration: =Tolstoi=] THE LONG EXILE BY COUNT LEO NIKOLAIEVITCH TOLSTOI [Illustration]