my dearest makar alexievitch,—for god’s sake go to the jeweller’s, and tell him that, after all, he need not make the pearl and emerald earrings. monsieur bwikov says that they will cost him too much, that they will burn a veritable hole in his pocket. in fact, he has lost his temper again, and declares that he is being robbed. yesterday he added that, had he but known, but foreseen, these expenses, he would never have married. also, he says that, as things are, he intends only to have a plain wedding, and then to depart. “you must not look for any dancing or festivity or entertainment of guests, for our gala times are still in the air.” such were his words. god knows i do not want such things, but none the less bwikov has forbidden them. i made him no answer on the subject, for he is a man all too easily irritated. what, what is going to become of me?

b. d.