flow more copiously; I felt ashamed, and I could not understand how a minute ago I could have disliked Karl Ivánovich, and how I could have found his gown, his cap, and his tassel contemptible. Now, on the contrary, all those things appeared particularly charming to me, and even the tassel seemed to be an evident proof of his goodness.
I told him that I was crying because I had had a bad dream, that I dreamt mamma had died and was being buried. I had made up all that myself, because I really did not remember what it was that I had dreamt about that night; but when Karl Ivánovich, touched by my story, began to console me, it seemed to me that I had actually had such a terrible dream, and my tears began to flow, this time from an entirely different cause.
When Karl Ivánovich left me, and I raised myself in bed and began to pull my stockings on my tiny legs, my tears flowed less abundantly, but the gloomy thoughts of my fictitious dream did not leave me. The children's valet, Nikoláy, entered the room. He was a small, neat man, always serious, accurate, respectful, and a great friend of Karl Ivánovich. He was carrying our garments and shoes: for Volódya a pair of boots, and for me still the unbearable shoes with ribbons. I felt ashamed to cry in his presence. Besides, the morning sun shone merrily through the windows, and Volódya, who was mocking Márya Ivánovna, my sister's governess, was laughing so merrily and loudly, as he stood at the wash-basin, that even solemn Nikoláy, with a towel over his shoulder, and with soap in one of his hands and the water-tank in the other, smiled and said:
"That will do, Vladímir Petróvich! Be pleased to wash yourself!"
I cheered up completely.
"Sind Sie bald fertig?" was heard the voice of Karl Ivánovich from the study-room.
