opinion in regard to this matter, but permit me to disagree with you in this only: however much I have thought, or read, or consulted about the question, my experience has brought me to the conviction that it is necessary to act upon children through fear. To make anything of a child, you need fear — am I not right, mon cousin? And what is it, je vous demande un peu, children fear more than the rod?"
Saying this, she looked interrogatively at us, and, I must confess, I felt very ill at ease during that moment.
"Say what you may, a boy up to twelve and even fourteen years of age is a child. With girls it is a different matter."
"Yes, that is very nice, my dear," said grandmother, folding my poem and replacing it under the box, as if she did not regard the princess, after these words, worthy of hearing such a production. "That is very nice, only, please, tell me, what refined feelings can you after that expect of your children?"
And, regarding this argument as incontrovertible, grandmother added, in order to break off the conversation:
"However, everybody has his own opinion upon that matter."
The princess did not answer, and only smiled condescendingly, wishing thus to say that she forgave this queer prejudice in a person whom she respected so much.
"Ah, introduce me to your young people," said she, looking at us and smiling politely.
We rose, and, fixing our eyes upon the face of the princess, did not know in the least what to do in order to prove that we had become acquainted.
"Kiss the hand of the princess," said papa.
"I ask you to love your old aunt," said she, kissing Volódya's hair. "Though I am but distantly related to you, I count not by degrees of relationship, but by ties of friendship," she added, speaking more especially to grand-
