Nikolay coughed sa\ said no more. Plis wife went away, and took
sa back to the nursery. Five minutes later little, black-eyed, three-year- 0 Natasha, her father’s favourite, hearing from her brother that papa ns asleep, and mamma in the next room, ran in to her father, unnoticed b her mother.
The black-eyed little girl boldly rattled at the door, and her fat, little fit ran with vigorous steps up to the sofa. After examining the position aher father, who was asleep with his back to her, she stood on tiptoe id kissed the hand that lay under his head. Nikolay turned round to h' with a smile of tenderness on his face.
rNatasha, Natasha! ’ he heard his wife whisper in dismay from the door. }ipa is sleepy.’
No, mamma, he isn’t sleepy,’ little Natasha answered with conviction, la’s laughing.’
Nikolay set his feet down, got up, and picked his little daughter up in b arms.
Come in, Masha,’ he said to his wife. She went in and sat down biide him.
I did not see him run in after me,’ she said timidly. ‘I just looked
if. .
Holding his little girl on one arm, Nikolay looked at his wife, and uticing her guilty expression, he put the other arm round her and kissed Hr on the hair.
May I kiss mamma?’ he asked Natasha. The little girl smiled de- rirely. ‘Again,’ she said, with a peremptory gesture, pointing to the spot p ere Nikolay had kissed her mother.
T don’t know why you should think I am cross,’ said Nikolay, replying tthe question which he knew was in his wife’s heart.
‘You can’t imagine how unhappy, how lonely, I am when you are like tit. It always seems to me . . .’
‘Marie, hush, nonsense! Y'ou ought to be ashamed,’ he said gaily. 1 ‘It seems to me that you can’t care for me; that I am so ugly . •. . at 3 times, and now in this . . .’
‘Oh, how absurd you are! It’s not those who are handsome we love, It those we love who are handsome. It is only Malvinas and such hero- ills who are loved because they are beautiful. And do you suppose I re my wife? Oh no, I don’t love you, but only ... 1 don’t know how b tell you. When you are away, and any misunderstanding like this :mes between us, I feel as though I were lost, and can do nothing. Why, :• I love my finger? I don’t love it, but only try cutting it off . . .' {‘No, I don’t feel like that, but I understand. Then you are not angry ith me?’
“I am awfully angry!’ he said, smiling, and getting up, and smoothing b hair, he began pacing up and down the room.
‘‘Do you know, Marie, what I have been thinking?’ he began, begin- tig at once now that peace was made between them, thinking aloud tfore his wife. He did not inquire whether she were disposed to listen; tat did not matter to him. An idea occurred to him; and so it must to
her, too. And he told her that he meant to persuade Pierre to stay wi them till the spring.
Countess Marya listened to him, made some comments, and then her turn began thinking her thoughts aloud. Her thoughts were of tl children.
‘How one can see the woman in her already,’ she said in French, poin ing to little Natasha. ‘You reproach us women for being illogical. Yc see in her our logic. I say, papa is sleepy; and she says, no, he’s laughin And she is right,’ said Countess Marya, smiling blissfully.
‘Yes, yes,’ and Nikolay, lifting up his little girl in his strong arr raised her high in the air, sat her on his shoulder, holding her little fee and began walking up and down with her. There was just the same loc of thoughtless happiness on the faces of father and daughter.
‘But do you know, you may be unfair. You are too fond of this one his wife whispered in French.
‘Yes, but what can I do? ... I try not to show it . . .’
At that moment there was heard from the hall and the vestibule th sound of the block of the door, and footsteps, as though some one ha arrived.
‘Somebody has come.’
‘I am sure it is Pierre. I will go and find out,’ said Countess Mary; and she went out of the room.
While she was gone Nikolay allowed himself to gallop round the rooifl with his little girl. Panting for breath, he quickly lowered the laughin child, and hugged her to his breast. His capers made him think of danc ing; and looking at the childish, round, happy little face, he wondere what she would be like when he would be an old man, taking her out t dances, and he remembered how his father used to dance Daniel Coope and the mazurka with his daughter.
‘It is he, it is he, Nikolay!’ said Countess Marya, returning a fet minutes later. ‘Now our Natasha is herself again. You should have seei her delight, and what a scolding he came in for at once for having out stayed his time. Come, let us go; make haste; come along! You mus part at last,’ she said, smiling, as she looked at the little girl nestling uj to her father. Nikolay went out, holding his daughter by the hand.
Countess Marya lingered behind.
