jump out, protrude again a little, and sucked him back into its throat to the waist. Again it let him protrude, and gulped him down once more. In this manner Ivan Matvyèich was visibly disappearing before our eyes. At last, with a final gulp, the crocodile drew into itself the whole of my learned friend, leaving nothing behind. On the surface of the crocodile one could see how Ivan Matvyèich, in his uniform, completely passed down its inside. I was just going to cry out again, when suddenly cruel fate played another jest upon us. The crocodile swelled itself out (probably half stifled by the enormous size of the mouthful), once more opened its fearful jaws, and for the last time the head of Ivan Matvyèich, with a despairing expression on the face, was suddenly protruded from them. At that instant the spectacles dropped off his nose into the bottom of the tank. It seemed as if this despairing head appeared only in order to cast one last glance upon everything, and take a mute farewell of all the pleasures of this world. But it had no time to carry out its intention; the crocodile once more gathered up its powers, gulped, and in a moment the head vanished, and this time for ever. This appearance and disappearance of a living human head was so dreadful, but at the same time, whether from the rapidity and unexpectedness of the event, or whether from the dropping of the spectacles from the nose, so funny, that I suddenly burst into a quite unexpected fit of laughter; but realising that for me, in my quality of family friend, to laugh at such a moment was improper, I instantly turned to Elyòna Ivànovna, and said to her with a look of sympathy— “It’s all up now with Ivan Matvyèich!” I cannot even attempt to describe the agitation of Elyòna Ivànovna during the whole process. After her first cry she stood for some time as petrified, and stared at the scene before her, as if indifferently, though her eyes were starting out of her head; then she suddenly burst into a piercing shriek. I caught her by the hands. At this moment the keeper, who until now had also stood petrified with horror, clasped his hands and raising his eyes to heaven, cried aloud— “Oh, my crocodile! oh, mein allerliebster Karlchen! Mutter! Mutter! Mutter!” At this cry the back door opened, and “Mutter,” a red-cheeked, untidy, elderly woman in a cap, rushed with a yell towards her son. There began an awful row. Elyòna Ivànovna, beside herself, reiterated one single phrase: “Cut it! Cut it!” and rushed from the keeper to the “Mutter” and back to the keeper, imploring them (evidently in a fit of frenzy) to “cut” something or some one for some reason. Neither the keeper nor “Mutter” took any notice of either of us; they were hanging over the tank and shrieking like stuck pigs. “He is gone dead; he vill sogleich burst, because he von ganz Tchinovnik eat up haf!” cried the keeper. “Unser Karlchen, unser allerliebster Karlchen wird sterben!” wailed the mother.