yosha, taking hold of the tip of his left toe with his right hand
and falling into the most unnatural attitude, turned over, jumped
up, and peeped at Belyaev from behind the big fluffy lampshade.

"What shall I say?" he said, shrugging his shoulders. "In reality
mother's never well. You see, she is a woman, and women, Nikolay
Ilyitch, have always something the matter with them."

Belyaev, having nothing better to do, began watching Alyosha's face.
He had never before during the whole of his intimacy with Olga
Ivanovna paid any attention to the boy, and had completely ignored
his existence; the boy had been before his eyes, but he had not
cared to think why he was there and what part he was playing.

In the twilight of the evening, Alyosha's face, with his white
forehead and black, unblinking eyes, unexpectedly reminded Belyaev
of Olga Ivanovna as she had been during the first pages of their
romance. And he felt disposed to be friendly to the boy.

"Come here, insect," he said; "let me have a closer look at you."

The boy jumped off the sofa and skipped up to Belyaev.

"Well," began Nikolay Ilyitch, putting a hand on the boy's thin
shoulder. "How are you getting on?"

"How shall I say! We used to get on a great deal better."

"Why?"

"It's very simple. Sonia and I used only to learn music and reading,
and now they give us French poetry to learn. Have you been shaved
lately?"

"Yes."

"Yes, I see you have. Your beard is shorter. Let me touch it. . . .
Does that hurt?"

"No."

"Why is it that if you pull one hair it hurts, but if you pull a
lot at once it doesn't hurt a bit? Ha, ha! And, you know, it's a
pity you don't have whiskers. Here ought to be shaved . . . but
here at the sides the hair ought to be left. . . ."

The boy nestled up to Belyaev and began playing with his watch-chain.

"When I go to the high-school," he said, "mother is going to buy
me a watch. I shall ask her to buy me a watch-chain like this. . . .
Wh-at a lo-ket! Father's got a locket like that, only yours has
little bars on it and his has letters. . . . There's mother's
portrait in the middle of his. Father has a different sort of chain
now, not made with rings, but like ribbon. . . ."

"How do you know? Do you see your father?"

"I? M'm . . . no . . . I . . ."

Alyosha blushed, and in great confusion, feeling caught in a lie,
began zealously scratching the locket with his nail. . . . Belyaev
looked steadily into his face and