instrument. Lubotshka always arranged her dress when sitting down just
as Mamma had done, as well as turned the leaves like her, tapped her
fingers angrily and said "Dear me!" whenever a difficult passage did not
go smoothly, and, in particular, played with the delicacy and exquisite
purity of touch which in those days caused the execution of Field's
music to be known characteristically as "jeu perle" and to lie beyond
comparison with the humbug of our modern virtuosi.

Papa entered the room with short, soft steps, and approached Lubotshka.
On seeing him she stopped playing.

"No, go on, Luba, go on," he said as he forced her to sit down again.
She went on playing, while Papa, his head on his hand, sat near her for
a while. Then suddenly he gave his shoulders a shrug, and, rising, began
to pace the room. Every time that he approached the piano he halted
for a moment and looked fixedly at Lubotshka. By his walk and his
every movement, I could see that he was greatly agitated. Once, when he
stopped behind Lubotshka, he kissed her black hair, and then, wheeling
quickly round, resumed his pacing. The piece finished, Lubotshka went up
to him and said, "Was it well played?" whereupon, without answering, he
took her head in his two hands, and kissed her forehead and eyes with
such tenderness as I had never before seen him display.

"Why, you are crying!" cried Lubotshka suddenly as she ceased to toy
with his watch-chain and stared at him with her great black eyes.
"Pardon me, darling Papa! I had quite forgotten that it was dear Mamma's
piece which I was playing."

"No, no, my love; play it often," he said in a voice trembling with
emotion. "Ah, if you only knew how much good it does me to share your