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"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

tears!"

He kissed her again, and then, mastering his feelings and shrugging

his shoulders, went to the door leading to the corridor which ran past

Woloda's room.

"Waldemar, shall you be ready soon?" he cried, halting in the middle of

the passage. Just then Masha came along.

"Why, you look prettier every day," he said to her. She blushed and

passed on.

"Waldemar, shall you be ready soon?" he cried again, with a cough and a

shake of his shoulders, just as Masha slipped away and he first caught

sight of me.

I loved Papa, but the intellect is independent of the heart, and often

gives birth to thoughts which offend and are harsh and incomprehensible

to the feelings. And it was thoughts of this kind that, for all I strove

to put them away, arose at that moment in my mind.

XXIII. GRANDMAMMA

Grandmamma was growing weaker every day. Her bell, Gasha's grumbling

voice, and the slamming of doors in her room were sounds of constant

occurrence, and she no longer received us sitting in the Voltairian

arm-chair in her boudoir, but lying on the bed in her bedroom, supported

on lace-trimmed cushions. One day when she greeted us, I noticed a

yellowish-white swelling on her hand, and smelt the same oppressive

odour which I had smelt five years ago in Mamma's room. The doctor came

three times a day, and there had been more than one consultation. Yet

the character of her haughty, ceremonious bearing towards all who lived

with her, and particularly towards Papa, never changed in the least. She

went on emphasising certain words, raising her eyebrows, and saying "my

dear," just as she had always done.

Then for a few days we did not see her at all, and one morning St.

Jerome proposed to me that Woloda and I should take Katenka and

Lubotshka for a drive during the hours generally allotted to study.

Although I observed that the street was lined with straw under the

windows of Grandmamma's room, and that some men in blue stockings

[Undertaker's men.] were standing at our gate, the reason never dawned

upon me why we were being sent out at that unusual hour. Throughout

the drive Lubotshka and I were in that particularly merry mood when the

least trifle, the least word or movement, sets one off laughing.

A pedlar went trotting across the road with a tray, and we laughed.

Some ragged cabmen, brandishing their reins and driving at full speed,

overtook our sledge, and we laughed again. Next, Philip's whip got

caught in the side of the vehicle, and the way in which he said, "Bother

the thing!" as he drove to disentangle it almost killed us with mirth.

Mimi looked displeased, and said that only silly people laughed for

no reason at all, but Lubotshka--her face purple with suppressed

merriment--needed but to give me a sly glance, and we again burst out

into such Homeric laughter, when our eyes met, that the tears rushed

into them and we could not stop our paroxysms, although they nearly

choked us. Hardly, again, had we desisted a little when I looked at

Lubotshka once more, and gave vent to one of the slang words which we

then affected among ourselves--words which always called forth hilarity;

and in a moment we were laughing again.

Just as we reached home, I was opening my mouth to make a splendid

grimace at Lubotshka when my eye fell upon a black coffin-cover which

was leaning against the gate--and my mouth remained fixed in its gaping

position.

"Your Grandmamma is dead," said St. Jerome as he met us. His face was

very pale.

Throughout the whole time that Grandmamma's body was in the house I was

oppressed with the fear of death, for the corpse served as a forcible

and disagreeable reminder that I too must die some day--a feeling which

people often mistake for grief. I had no sincere regret for Grandmamma,

nor, I think, had any one else, since, although the house was full of

sympathising callers, nobody seemed to mourn for her from their hearts

except one mourner whose genuine grief made a great impression upon me,

seeing that the mourner in question was--Gasha! She shut herself up in

the garret, tore her hair and refused all consolation, saying that, now

that her mistress was dead, she only wished to die herself.

I again assert that, in matters of feeling, it is the unexpected effects

that constitute the most reliable signs of sincerity.

Though Grandmamma was no longer with us, reminiscences and gossip about

her long went on in the house. Such gossip referred mostly to her will,

which she had made shortly before her death, and of which, as yet, no

one knew the contents except her bosom friend, Prince Ivan Ivanovitch.

I could hear the servants talking excitedly together, and making

innumerable conjectures as to the amount left and the probable

beneficiaries: nor can I deny that the idea that we ourselves were

probably the latter greatly pleased me.

Six weeks later, Nicola--who acted as regular news-agent to the

house--informed me that Grandmamma had left the whole of her fortune to

Lubotshka, with, as her trustee until her majority, not Papa, but Prince

Ivan Ivanovitch!

XXIV. MYSELF

Only a few months remained before I was to matriculate for the

University, yet I was making such good progress that I felt no

apprehensions, and even took a pleasure in my studies. I kept in good

heart, and learnt my lessons fluently and intelligently. The faculty

I had selected was the mathematical one--probably, to tell the truth,

because the terms "tangent," "differentials," "integrals," and so forth,

pleased my fancy.

Though stout and broad-shouldered, I was shorter than Woloda, while my

ugliness of face still remained and tormented me as much as ever. By way

of compensation, I tried to appear original. Yet one thing comforted

me, namely, that Papa had said that I had "an INTELLIGENT face." I quite

believed him.

St. Jerome was not only satisfied with me, but actually had taken to

praising me. Consequently, I had now ceased to hate him. In fact, when,

one day, he said that, with my "capacities" and my "intellect," it would

be shameful for me not to accomplish this, that, or the other thing, I

believe I almost liked him.

I had long ago given up keeping observation on the maidservants' room,

for I was now ashamed to hide behind doors. Likewise, I confess that

the knowledge of Masha's love for Basil had greatly cooled my ardour

for her, and that my passion underwent a final cure by their marriage--a

consummation to which I myself contributed by, at Basil's request,

asking Papa's consent to the union.

When the newly-married couple brought trays of cakes and sweetmeats to

Papa as a thank-offering, and Masha, in a cap with blue ribbons, kissed

each of us on the shoulder in token of her gratitude, I merely noticed

the scent of the rose pomade on her hair, but felt no other sensation.