Suddenly I felt a hazy intuition, a slight thought. It encircled and hid everything. My soul became empty and cold, like a field in winter. At this time, I did not dare express my thoughts in words, but even if they did not appear before me clothed in words, still I felt their power and dreaded them, and was afraid, as a little child in a dark cave. I jumped up, took my hunting traps with me, and hurried from the house. To rid myself of my sickly fear, I sang as I hurried along. The people in the village laughed at me. A catcher of birds is not especially respected in the country, and Olga sighed heavily many times; for it seemed to her, too, that my occupation was something to be ashamed of. My father-in-law gave me long lectures, but I did not answer. I waited for autumn. Perhaps I would draw a lucky number and not have to serve in the military, and so escape this terrible abyss. My wife became with child again, and her sadness increased. "What is the matter, Olga?" I asked. At first she evaded the question and made believe that nothing was troubling her. But one day she embraced me and said: "I shall die, Matvei--I shall die in childbirth." I knew that women often talk thus, still I was frightened. I tried to comfort her, but she would not listen to me. "You will remain alone again," she said, "beloved by none. You are so difficult and so haughty toward all. I ask you for the sake of the children, don't be so proud. We are all sinners, before God, and you also." She spoke this way often to me, and I was wretched with pity and fear for her. As to my father-in-law, I had made a sort of truce with him, and he immediately made use of it in his own way: "Here, Matvei, sign this," or "Do not write that." Things were coming to a climax. We were, close to the recruiting time, and a second child was soon expected. The recruits were making holiday in the village. They called me out, but I refused to go, and they broke my windows for me. The day came when I had to go to town to draw my lot. Olga was already afraid at this time to leave the house, and my father-in-law accompanied me and during the whole way he impressed it upon me what trouble he had taken for me, how much money he had spent and how everything had been arranged for my benefit. "Perhaps it is all in vain," I said. And so it was. My number came along the last, and I was free. Titoff could hardly believe my luck and he laughed at me gloomily. "It seems really that God is with you." I did not answer, but I was unspeakably happy. My freedom meant everything to me--everything that oppressed my soul. And above all, it meant freedom from my dear father-in-law. At home Olga's joy was great. She wept and laughed, the dear one; praised and caressed me as if I had killed a bear. "God be praised," she said; "now I can die in peace."