Life" before proceeding to their detailed inscription.
Accordingly, I proceeded to write "Rules of My Life" on the
outside of the six sheets of paper which I had made into a sort
of folio, but the words came out in such a crooked and uneven
scrawl that for long I sat debating the question, "Shall I write
them again?"--for long, sat in agonised contemplation of the
ragged handwriting and disfigured title-page. Why was it that all
the beauty and clarity which my soul then contained came out so
misshapenly on paper (as in life itself) just when I was wishing
to apply those qualities to what I was thinking at the moment?

"The priest is here, so please come downstairs and hear his
directions," said Nicola as he entered,

Hurriedly concealing my folio under the table-cloth, I looked at
myself in the mirror, combed my hair upwards (I imagined this to
give me a pensive air), and descended to the divannaia, [Room
with divans, or ante-room] where the table stood covered with a
cloth and had an ikon and candles placed upon it. Papa entered
just as I did, but by another door: whereupon the priest--a grey-
headed old monk with a severe, elderly face--blessed him, and
Papa kissed his small, squat, wizened hand. I did the same.

"Go and call Woldemar," said Papa. "Where is he? Wait a minute,
though. Perhaps he is preparing for the Communion at the
University?"

"No, he is with the Prince," said Katenka, and glanced at
Lubotshka. Suddenly the latter blushed for some reason or
another, and then frowned. Finally, pretending that she was not