"You're such a sweet pet!" she used to say with perfect sincerity,
stroking his hair. "You're such a pretty dear!"

Towards Lent he went to Moscow to collect a new troupe, and without
him she could not sleep, but sat all night at her window, looking
at the stars, and she compared herself with the hens, who are awake
all night and uneasy when the cock is not in the hen-house. Kukin
was detained in Moscow, and wrote that he would be back at Easter,
adding some instructions about the Tivoli. But on the Sunday before
Easter, late in the evening, came a sudden ominous knock at the
gate; some one was hammering on the gate as though on a barrel--
boom, boom, boom! The drowsy cook went flopping with her bare feet
through the puddles, as she ran to open the gate.

"Please open," said some one outside in a thick bass. "There is a
telegram for you."

Olenka had received telegrams from her husband before, but this
time for some reason she felt numb with terror. With shaking hands
she opened the telegram and read as follows:

"IVAN PETROVITCH DIED SUDDENLY TO-DAY. AWAITING IMMATE INSTRUCTIONS
FUFUNERAL TUESDAY."

That was how it was written in the telegram--"fufuneral," and the
utterly incomprehensible word "immate." It was signed by the stage
manager of the operatic company.

"My darling!" sobbed Olenka. "Vanka, my precious, my darling! Why