snow remaining. The swallows are arriving, and to-day Lubotshka brought me the first flowers. The doctor says that in about three days’ time I shall be well again and able to take the open air and to enjoy the April sun. Now, au revoir, my dearest one. Do not be alarmed, I beg of you, either on account of my illness or on account of your losses at play. End the crisis as soon as possible, and then return here with the children for the summer.

I am making wonderful plans for our passing of it, and I only need your presence to realise them.”

The rest of the letter was written in French, as well as in a strange, uncertain hand, on another piece of paper. I transcribe it word for word:

“Do not believe what I have just written to you about