Yudushka kissed dear mother's hand, then her lips, then her hand again and put his arm about her waist and said, shaking his head sadly:
"And you keep on worrying. That's bad, mother dear, very bad. Instead of that you should ask yourself: 'And what is God going to say to this?' He will say: 'Here have I in my infinite wisdom arranged everything for the best, and she grumbles.' Ah, mother dear, mother dear."
Then he kissed both of his nieces, and with the same charming familiarity in his voice, said:
"And you, too, romps, you are crying your eyes out. I won't permit it. I command you immediately to smile. And that shall be the end of it."
And he stamped his foot at them in jesting anger.
"Just look at me," he continued. "As a brother I am torn with grief. More than once I have shed tears. I am sorry for brother, sorry as can be. I weep. Then I bethink myself: 'And what is God for? Is it possible that God knows less than we what ought to be?' This thought inspires me with courage. That is how you all should act, you, mother dear, and you, little nieces, and--" he turned to the servants--"you all."
And in the same charming manner he proceeded to impersonate a man who bears up. He straightened his body, put one foot forward, expanded his chest, and threw back his head. The audience smiled sourly.
This performance over, Yudushka passed into the drawing-room and kissed his mother's hand again.
"Well, so that's how things are, mother dear," he said, seating himself on the couch. "So brother Pavel, too."
"Yes, Pavel, too," softly answered Arina Petrovna.
"Yes, yes--a little too early. Although I play the brave, in my soul I, too, suffer and grieve for my poor brother. He hated me--hated me bitterly. Maybe that is why God is punishing him."
"You might forget about it at such a moment. You must set old grudges aside."
"I have forgotten it all long ago. I only mentioned it in passing. My brother disliked me, for what reason, I know not. I tried one way and another, directly and indirectly. I called him 'dear' and 'kind brother,' but he drew back and that was the end of it."
"I asked you please not to bring all that up. The man is lying at the point of death."
"Yes, mother dear, death is a great mystery. 'For ye know neither the day nor the hour.' That's the kind of mystery it is. There he was making plans, thinking he was exalted so high, so high as to be beyond mortal reach. But in one instant with one blow God undid all his dreams. Perhaps he would be glad now to cover up his sins. But they are already recorded in the Book of Life. And whatever is written in that book, mother dear, won't be scraped off in a hurry."