MY DEAREST MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH,—Are not you, my friend and benefactor¹, just a little ashamed to repine and give way to such despondency? And surely you are not offended with me? Ah! Though often thoughtless in my speech, I never should have imagined that you would take my words as a jest at your expense. Rest assured that NEVER should I make sport of your years or of your character. Only my own levity² is at fault; still more, the fact that I am so weary of life.  
What will such a feeling not engender³? To tell you the truth, I had supposed that YOU were jesting in your letter; wherefore, my heart was feeling heavy at the thought that you could feel so displeased⁴ with me. Kind comrade and helper, you will be doing me an injustice⁵ if for a single moment you ever suspect that I am lacking in feeling or in gratitude⁶ towards you. My heart, believe me, is able to appraise⁷ at its true worth all that you have done for me by protecting me from my enemies, and from hatred⁸ and persecution⁹. Never shall I cease to pray to God for you; and, should my prayers ever reach Him and be received of Heaven, then assuredly fortune will smile upon you!
 
Today I am not well. By turns I shiver and flush with heat, and Thedora is greatly disturbed about me.... Do not scruple¹⁰ to come and see me, Makar Alexievitch. How can it concern other people what you do? You and I are well enough acquainted with each other, and one’s own affairs are one’s own affairs. Goodbye, Makar Alexievitch, for I have come to the end of all I had to say, and am feeling too unwell to write more. Again I beg of you not to be angry with me, but to rest assured of my constant respect and attachment¹¹.—Your humble¹², devoted¹³ servant,
 
BARBARA DOBROSELOVA.