around him, after which he would beat time with his thin boots (he
detested heels, and never wore them), and make us sing gipsy songs. At
such times you should have seen the quaint enthusiasm of his beloved
Lubotshka, who adored him!

Sometimes, again, he would come to the schoolroom and listen with a
grave face as I said my lessons; yet by the few words which he would let
drop when correcting me, I could see that he knew even less about the
subject than I did. Not infrequently, too, he would wink at us and make
secret signs when Grandmamma was beginning to scold us and find fault
with us all round. "So much for us children!" he would say. On
the whole, however, the impossible pinnacle upon which my childish
imagination had placed him had undergone a certain abasement. I still
kissed his large white hand with a certain feeling of love and respect,
but I also allowed myself to think about him and to criticise his
behaviour until involuntarily thoughts occurred to me which alarmed me
by their presence. Never shall I forget one incident in particular which
awakened thoughts of this kind, and caused me intense astonishment. Late
one evening, he entered the drawing-room in his black dress-coat and
white waistcoat, to take Woloda (who was still dressing in his bedroom)
to a ball. Grandmamma was also in her bedroom, but had given orders
that, before setting out, Woloda was to come and say goodbye to her (it
was her invariable custom to inspect him before he went to a ball, and
to bless him and direct him as to his behaviour). The room where we were
was lighted by a solitary lamp. Mimi and Katenka were walking up
and down, and Lubotshka was playing Field's Second Concerto (Mamma's
favourite piece) at the piano. Never was there such a family likeness as
between Mamma and my sister--not so much in the face or the stature as
in the hands, the walk, the voice, the favourite expressions, and,
above all, the way of playing the piano and the whole demeanour at the