“Yes, yes ... I remember, I remember ... But to hang one’s self! ... What horror! ... Why, I advised her to treat herself then. Medicine works miracles now. I myself know several people who absolutely ... well, absolutely cured themselves. Everybody in society knows this and receives them ... Ah, the poor little thing, the poor little thing! ...” “And so I’ve come to you, Ellena Victorovna. I wouldn’t have dared to disturb you, but I seem to be in a forest, and have no one to turn to. You were so kind then, so touchingly attentive, so tender to us ... I need only your advice and, perhaps, a little of your influence, your protection...” “Oh, please, my dear! ... All I can do, I will ... Oh, my poor head! And then this horrible news. Tell me, in what way can I be of assistance to you?” “To confess, I don’t know even myself yet,” answered Tamara. “You see, they carried her away to an anatomical theatre ... But until they had made the protocol, until they made the journey—then the time for receiving had gone by also—in general I think that they have not had a chance to dissect her yet ... I’d like, if it’s only possible, that she should not be touched. To-day is Sunday; perhaps they’ll postpone it until to-morrow, and in the meanwhile something may be done for her...” “I can’t tell you, dear ... Wait! ... Haven’t I some friend among the professors, in the medical world? ... I will look later in my memo-books. Perhaps we will succeed in doing something.” “Besides that,” continued Tamara, “I want to bury her ... At my expense ... I was attached to her with all my heart during her life.” “I will help you with pleasure in this, materially...” “No, no! ... A thousand thanks! ... I’ll do everything myself. I would not hesitate to have recourse to your kind heart, but this ... —you will understand me— ... this is something in the nature of a vow, that a person gives to one’s self and to the memory of a friend. The main difficulty is in how we may manage to bury her with Christian rites. She was, it seems, an unbeliever, or believed altogether poorly. And it’s only by chance that I, also, will cross my forehead. But I don’t want them to bury her just like a dog, somewhere beyond the enclosure of the cemetery; in silence, without words, without singing ... I don’t know, will they permit burying her properly—with choristers, with priests? For that reason I’m asking you to assist me with your advice. Or, perhaps, you will direct me somewhere? ...”