April 11th, 1876, our wedding day, was a red-letter day for me. Our house was full of guests and relations assembled to see me married. The marriage ceremony was to take place at ten o’clock in the evening in our village church. Before starting for church my father and mother gave me their blessing and cried a good deal. My bridegroom came forward to meet me on the threshold of the church and led me to the altar. We stood before the old priest who was to unite us, a little pale but quite self-possessed. He pronounced the words of the Sacrament that had been said over to so many millions of human beings: “Until death us do part!” and we became man and wife. The priest had concluded his marriage benediction, and after the usual congratulations, Sergy offered me his arm and we passed out of church, going together into a new life. We proceeded to our chateau, where my parents gave us and our numerous guests a sumptuous supper, enlivened by a military band that they sent for from Kharkoff. Whilst my health was drunk Sergy pressed a kiss on my lips, then followed a clinking of glasses and wild cheers of felicitations and blessings without end. Amidst this hurly-burly I saw a spider that crept up my nuptial gown. That was a cheerful omen for our wedding. A French proverb says: _Araignée du soir grand espoir._ God grant it to be so! When the meal was over I went speedily to put on my travelling dress, for it was nearly daylight and we had to drive a long way to Mertchik, a fine estate belonging to Sergy’s elder brother, situated at about fifty miles from Dolgik, where we were to spend our honeymoon. Before leaving the home that had sheltered my happy girlhood for ever, I went to bid my last farewell to the room of my girlish days. I knelt down at the side of my forlorn bed, and with my head on my folded arms I prayed. Then I parted from my parents, shedding copious tears. Good-bye Dolgik, good-bye my dear old life! I stepped with my husband into the handsome victoria, given to me by my brother for a wedding present, and we rode away, driven by four spirited horses. On crossing a bridge one of our steeds slipped and went down; the carriage passed over him, throwing the coachman and the footman off their box-seat. The frightened animals, feeling themselves at liberty, tore away down the road at a frightful pace. We were sitting terror-struck, seeing ourselves shut up in the carriage. Sergy made an attempt to squeeze himself through the pane of glass on the box, in order to catch hold of the reins and stop the horses. I divined his crazy purpose and clutched at him with all my force. Luckily at that moment the reins entangled themselves between the wheels, bringing the maddened animals to a stand-still within two steps of the river.