Afterwards my grandmother told me that perhaps the woman would leave me
all her money. Next time she came I wished to speak to her, but
unfortunately I had a quinsy. When the woman eventually died it was
discovered that she had been destitute for a long time. She left her
hand-cart by will to my grandmother, and in her disappointment my
grandmother beat me over the head with it. Soon afterwards my hair began
to come out, and my grandmother said it was time I found a husband.
Accordingly she went next door, where lived a woman with five sons. They
were all out except one, and he had a sore leg. She brought him to me,
and I cried very bitterly. He also. His name was Ivan, and I wished it
had been Peter.
The next day we were betrothed, and all our friends came to eat the
feast that my grandmother provided. A school-fellow of mine, a very
beautiful girl, was angry because I had a husband and not she. She
scratched my face, and the blood ran on to my dress. Our friends
congratulated us, and when they had gone my grandmother said it had been
a great success. She and I finished what was left of the feast and went
to bed. I remember that my feet were very cold, and when I fell asleep I
dreamed that my betrothed's name was Peter. When I awoke I cried very
loud, and my grandmother slapped my cheeks.
Shortly afterwards she died, and I went to live with my uncle, who was a
pawnbroker in Moscow.
* * * * *