that circle was pasted a picture which represented a caricature of a lady and a hair-dresser. Karl Ivánovich was a good hand at pasting, and he had himself invented and made that circle in order to shield his weak eyes against the bright light.
Vividly I see before me the lank figure in the cotton dressing-gown and red cap, underneath which peep out scanty gray hairs. He is seated at the little table, upon which is placed the circle with the hair-dresser, that throws a shadow upon his face. In one hand he holds a book; his other is resting on the arm of the chair. Near him lies the watch with a chasseur painted on its face, a checkered handkerchief, a round black snuff-box, a green case for his glasses, and snuffers on a holder. All these things are lying so regularly and properly in their places, that by the order itself it is possible to conclude that Karl Ivánovich's conscience is pure and his soul at rest.
When we had run ourselves tired in the hall down-stairs, we used to steal up-stairs on tiptoes, into the study, and there we would see Karl Ivánovich sitting all alone in his armchair and with a calmly sublime expression reading one of his favourite books. There were moments when I caught him not reading: his spectacles were dropped lower on his large aquiline nose, his blue, half-closed eyes looked with a certain peculiar expression, and his lips smiled sadly. It was quiet in the room; one could hear only the even breathing and the ticking of the watch with the chasseur.
At times he did not notice me, while I stood at the door and thought: "Poor, poor old man! There are many of us: we are playing, we are happy; but he is all alone, and nobody comforts him. He is telling the truth when he says that he is an orphan. The history of his life is terrible, indeed! I remember his telling it to Nikoláy. It is terrible to be in his place!" And I would feel so
