"Stay! I want you both. Pushkin, be a man--a brave, strong man! Are you a child, that you are trembling so? Grant me what I ask. I am going to make my will. Draw the writing-table up to my bed, light two candles, and place the crucifix between them; but first close the shutters and make it night! Oh, these terrible summer nights in St. Petersburg, with their endless gathering dusk--it seems as if night would never come and day would never cease! It is such an oppression! Ah, I feel calmer now that it is dark. Now come and sit down by me and write; or would you rather lay the portfolio on my bed and write kneeling? So you shall, then. And you, Bethsaba, kneel beside him. Attend to what I say, and write: 'Surrendering my soul to God, my ashes to earth, I, Sophie Narishkin, bequeath, on my death, all my worldly goods to my only friend the Circassian Princess, Bethsaba Dilarianoff. The only two things I desire to have buried with me are the little piece of lead which I have ever worn upon my heart, and, under my head, the little green silk cushion filled with rose-leaves, on which I shall rest peacefully.' What! cannot you see the letters that you are writing all across the paper? Pushkin, what a baby you are! Write further: 'To my one and only friend I bequeath the greatest treasure I have in the world--my Aleko Pushkin!'" At these words Bethsaba would have started up, but Sophie would not allow it. Twining one arm round her neck, the other round Pushkin's, she pressed their cheeks together. "Am I not to be allowed to dispose of my treasure as I like in my will? Do you think, then, that I do not know how dearly you love him? Before I confessed to you my love for him, his praises were forever in your mouth; since then you have never once mentioned his name. Do you think I did not know why you always hurried away when he came? Your cheeks used to be so rosy, and you so merry and full of fun. Now they are white, and you are so sad and lifeless. Do you think I have not divined your grief? You love him, as I do. Do not conceal it any longer. Tell the truth. Do not have any secrets longer from a dying girl, who to-morrow will be a spirit, knowing all that is in your spirit. Do not wait for my disembodied soul to come nightly to disquiet you, asking, as a spectre, the answer to the question you refused me in life. Confess that you love Aleko!" As she heard these words Bethsaba's heart felt nigh to bursting, and with open lips and upturned eyes she fell unconscious to the ground.