voice began to tremble, and he was compelled to get his checkered handkerchief out of his pocket.
"Yes, Peter Aleksándrych," said he through tears (that passage was not at all in his prepared speech), "I am so accustomed to the children that I do not know what I am going to do without them. I should prefer to serve you without pay," he added, with one hand wiping his tears, and with the other handing in his bill.
I am absolutely sure that Karl Ivánovich was that moment speaking sincerely, because I know his good heart; but it remains a mystery to me how his bill harmonized with his words.
"If the parting is sad for you, it is still sadder for me," said papa, tapping his shoulder. "I have now changed my mind."
Shortly before supper, Grísha entered the room. He had not ceased sobbing and weeping from the time he had come to our home, which, in the opinion of those who believed in his ability to predict, foreboded some misfortune for our house. He began to take leave, and said that the next morning he would wander on. I beckoned to Volódya, and went out-of-doors.
"What?"
"If you want to see Grísha's chains, let us go up-stairs, to the apartments of the male servants. Grísha sleeps there in the second room, and we can see everything from the lumber-room, and we shall see everything—"
"Superb! Wait here awhile; I will call the girls."
The girls came out, and we proceeded up-stairs. After some dispute as to who should be the first to go into the dark lumber-room, we seated ourselves, and began to wait.
