this: her only consolation will be to hear that you are studying well and that people are satisfied with you."
Although from the preparations which had been going on for several days we expected something unusual, yet this news gave us a terrible shock. Volódya blushed and with a trembling voice gave him mother's message.
"So this is what my dream foreboded!" thought I. "God grant only that nothing worse may happen."
I was very sorry for mother; at the same time the thought that we were now grown gave me pleasure.
"If we are to travel to-day, there will be no classes: that is glorious!" thought I. "However, I am sorry for Karl Ivánovich. He will, no doubt, be dismissed, or else they would not have fixed an envelope for him. It would be better, after all, to study all our lives and not to go away, not to leave mother, and not to offend poor Karl Ivánovich. He is unfortunate enough without it!"
These thoughts flashed through my head: I did not budge from the spot, and fixed my eyes on the black ribbons of my shoes.
My father said a few words to Karl Ivánovich about the falling of the barometer, and ordered Yákov not to feed the dogs, so that before his leave-taking he might go out in the afternoon and listen to the baying of the young hounds. Contrary to my expectation he sent us back to study, consoling us, however, with a promise to take us out on the hunt.
On my way up-stairs I ran out on the terrace. At the door lay father's favourite greyhound, Mílka, blinking her eyes in the sun.
"Dear Mílka," said I, patting her and kissing her mouth, "we are going away to-day. Good-bye! We shall never see each other again."
I was agitated, and I began to weep.
