t I intended to
punish the huntsman? You know, I am not very fond of fellows like this,"
he added in French, "and this one offends me particularly. Should it
ever happen that--"

"Oh, don't say so," interrupted Mamma, as if frightened by some thought.
"How can you know what he is?"

"I think I have plenty of opportunities for doing so, since no lack of
them come to see you--all of them the same sort, and probably all with
the same story."

I could see that Mamma's opinion differed from his, but that she did not
mean to quarrel about it.

"Please hand me the cakes," she said to him, "Are they good to-day or
not?"

"Yes, I AM angry," he went on as he took the cakes and put them where
Mamma could not reach them, "very angry at seeing supposedly reasonable
and educated people let themselves be deceived," and he struck the table
with his fork.

"I asked you to hand me the cakes," she repeated with outstretched hand.

"And it is a good thing," Papa continued as he put the hand aside, "that
the police run such vagabonds in. All they are good for is to play upon
the nerves of certain people who are already not over-strong in
that respect," and he smiled, observing that Mamma did not like the
conversation at all. However, he handed her the cakes.

"All that I have to say," she replied, "is that one can hardly believe
that a man who, though sixty years of age, goes barefooted winter and
summer, and always wears chains of two pounds' weight, and never
accepts the offers made to him to live a quiet, comfortable life--it is
difficult to believe that such a man should act thus out of laziness."
Pausing a moment, she added with a sigh: "As to predictions, je suis
payee pour y croire, I told you, I think, that Grisha prophesied the
very day and hour of poor Papa's death?"

"Oh, what HAVE you gone and done?" said Papa, laughing and putting his
hand to his cheek (whenever he did this I used to look for something
particularly comical from him). "Why did you call my attention to his
feet? I looked at them, and now can eat nothing more."

Luncheon was over now, and Lubotshka and Katenka were winking at us,
fidgeting about in their chairs, and showing great restlessness. The
winking, of course, signified, "Why don't you ask whether we too may go
to the hunt?" I nudged Woloda, and Woloda nudged me back, until at last
I took heart of grace, and began (at first shyly, but gradually with
more assurance) to ask if it would matter muc