Page:The Russian Review Volume 1.djvu/309

Rh And suddenly, her lips began to shake, she turned her face towards the window, and began to drum on the table with a teaspoon.

"He's an awfully spoiled child," said your mother, trying to appear perfectly fair, and resuming her knitting. "Dreadfully spoiled."

"Oh, grandma, grandma, dear!" you were crying in the meantime, appealing to your last refuge.

And grandma had the hardest time in the world trying to remain in her chair. Her heart was flying to where you were, but to please your mother and me, she stayed in her place, looking out of the window and drumming on the table with her spoon.

You must have realized that we had decided not to give in, that nobody will come to allay your pain with kisses and to comfort you with love, to beg your forgiveness. Your tears, too, were all wept away already. You were exhausted by your cries, by your childish sorrow with which no human sorrow can perhaps compare, but you were not going to quiet down. It was plain that you derived no more pleasure out of your sobs, that your voice was hoarse, that you had no more tears. Yet you continued to sob and cry.

I could scarcely endure it myself. I wanted so much to get up from my chair, open the door, and, with one kind word, put an end to your suffering. But such an action would not have been consistent with the established rules of rational education, and with the dignity of a stern and just uncle! Finally you became quiet. ..

"And we made our peace immediately?" you ask.

Oh, no. I was firm to the end. It was at least a half-hour after you became quiet that I came to the nursery. But how? I opened the door with a serious face, as if I was looking for something in the room. You were gradually returning to your old life. Sitting on the floor, your whole body still occasionally shaken by deep sighs that usually follow a period of long weeping, your face dark with the tears smeared all over it, you were occupied with your modest toys, several match boxes, which you were arranging in the space between your outstretched legs into patterns known to no one but yourself. How my heart ached at the sight of those boxes!

But, making it quite evident that our relations were broken,