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Chapter 1

Kolya Krassotkin

I

T was the beginning of November. There had been a hard

frost, eleven degrees Reaumur, without snow, but a lit-

tle dry snow had fallen on the frozen ground during the

night, and a keen dry wind was lifting and blowing it along

the dreary streets of our town, especially about the market-

place. It was a dull morning, but the snow had ceased.

Not far from the market-place, close to Plotnikov’s

shop, there stood a small house, very clean both without

and within. It belonged to Madame Krassotkin, the wid-

ow of a former provincial secretary, who had been dead for

fourteen years. His widow, still a nice-looking woman of

thirty-two, was living in her neat little house on her pri-

vate means. She lived in respectable seclusion; she was of a

soft but fairly cheerful disposition. She was about eighteen

at the time of her husband’s death; she had been married

only a year and had just borne him a son. From the day

of his death she had devoted herself heart and soul to the

bringing up of her precious treasure, her boy Kolya. Though

she had loved him passionately those fourteen years, he had

caused her far more suffering than happiness. She had been