"Yes,"—replied young Kalítin:—"he went away from here to Odessa—they say that some one decoyed him thither; and there he died."
"You do not know—whether he left any music behind him?"
"I don't know,—it is hardly probable."
All fell silent, and exchanged glances. A cloud of sadness had descended upon all the young faces.
"And Matróska is alive,"—suddenly remarked Lyénotchka.
"And Gedeónovsky is alive,"—added her brother.
At the name of Gedeónovsky a vigorous peal of laughter rang out in unison.
"Yes, he is alive, and lies just as he always did,"—went on Márya Dmítrievna's son:—"and just imagine, that naughty child there" (and he pointed at his wife's sister, the Institute-girl) "put pepper in his snuff-box yesterday."
"How he did sneeze!" exclaimed Lyénotehka:—and again a peal of irrepressible laughter rang out.
"We received news of Liza recently,"—said young Kalítin,—and again everything grew still round about:—"things are well with her,—her health is now improving somewhat."