_Mamochka's_ white face became blurred, and everything grew dark
before Lelechka. She caught the edge of the bed-cover feebly with her
hands and whispered: "_Tiu-tiu!_"
Something rattled in her throat; Lelechka opened and again closed her
rapidly paling lips, and died.
Serafima Aleksandrovna was in dumb despair as she left Lelechka, and
went out of the room. She met her husband.
"Lelechka is dead," she said in a quiet, dull voice.
Sergey Modestovich looked anxiously at her pale face. He was struck by
the strange stupor in her formerly animated handsome features.
VII
Lelechka was dressed, placed in a little coffin, and carried into the
parlour. Serafima Aicksandrovna was standing by the coffin and looking
dully at her dead child. Sergey Modestovich went to his wife and,
consoling her with cold, empty words, tried to draw her away from the
coffin. Seranma Aleksandrovna smiled.
"Go away," she said quietly. "Lelechka is playing. She'll be up in a
minute."
"Sima, my dear, don't agitate yourself," said Sergey Modestovich in a
whisper. "You must resign yourself to your fate."
"She'll be up in a minute," persisted Serafima Aleksandrovna, her eyes
fixed on the dead little girl.
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