The soldier Tuphyaev came running to her and took the horse. She stuck her whip into her belt and, holding out her arms, said: "Give her to me!" "I'll carry her in myself." "Come on!" cried the lady, as if I had been a horse, and she stamped her foot on the step. The little girl woke up, blinking, and, seeing her mother, held out her arms to her. They went away. I was used to being shouted at, but I did not like this lady to shout at me. She had only to give an order quietly, and every one obeyed her. In a few minutes the cross-eyed maid came out for me. The little girl was naughty, and would not go to sleep without saying good night. It was not without pride in my bearing toward the mother that I entered the drawing-room, where the little girl was sitting on the knees of her mother, who was deftly undressing her. "Here he is," she said. "He has come--this monster." "He is not a monster, but my boy." "Really? Very good. Well, you would like to give something to your boy, would n't you?" "Yes, I should." "A good idea! I will see to it, and you will go to bed." "Good-by till to-morrow," said the little girl, holding out her hand to me. "God preserve you till to-morrow!" The lady exclaimed in surprise: "Who taught you to say that? Grandmother?" "Ye-es." When the child had left the room the lady beckoned to me. "What shall we give you?" I told her that I did not want anything; but could she let me have a book to read? She lifted my chin with her warm, scented fingers, and asked, with a pleasant smile: "So you are fond of reading? Yes; what books have you read?" When she smiled she looked more beautiful than ever. I confusedly told her the names of several books. "What did you find to like in them?" she asked, laying her hand on the table and moving her fingers slightly. A strong, sweet smell of some sort of flowers came from her, mixed with the odor of horse-sweat. She looked at me through her long eyelashes, thoughtfully grave. No one had ever looked at me like that before. The room was packed as tightly as a bird's nest with beautiful, soft furniture. The windows were covered with thick green curtains; the snowy white tiles of the stove gleamed in the half-light; beside the stove shone the glossy surface of a black piano; and from the walls, in dull-gold frames, looked dark writings in large Russian characters. Under each writing hung a large dark seal by a cord. Everything about her looked at that woman as humbly and timidly as I did. I explained to her as well as I could that my life was hard and uninteresting and that reading helped me to forget it. "Yes; so that's what it is," she said, standing up. "It is not a bad idea, and, in fact, it is quite right. Well, what shall we do? I will get some books for you, but just now I have none. But wait! You can have this one." She took a tattered book with a yellow cover from the couch. "When you have read this I will give you the second volume; there are four."