Before the game began, the time and place of the action were specified, the hero’s name and description had to be settled, and a situation prescribed. For example: In the year 1860 Bertha would be staying at a castle near Moscow as the guest of the Russian ambassador’s wife. The lady’s brother, Prince Alexander Alexandrovitch Rassumof, a very gloomy and melancholy misanthrope, tall, elegant, dressed in black, with uncannily gleaming eyes, is among the inmates of the house, but rarely shows himself. He is understood to have been through a great misfortune (a dark story of a false woman, of an opponent shot in a duel—the particulars are not known) and to have withdrawn from the world. The scene represents the garden, on the bank of a pond where a few swans are gliding. I am sitting on a bench under a weeping willow with a book in my hand, and from a side alley comes, buried in deep thought,—Alexander Alexandrovitch. Now, after this was settled, the game could begin, and we said “Puff.” By this magic word we were transformed into the dramatis personæ—I into the seventeen-year-old Bertha, Elvira into the mysterious Russian. And the dialogue began. If we wanted to interrupt the game for a moment, we said “Puff,” and straightway we were again the two little cousins, telling each other something: a scenic remark, such as “This pencil means a pistol,” or perhaps something private that had no connection with the game. And only when “Puff” was pronounced again was the dialogue resumed. To indicate that the one or the other changed color we had special signs: a quick and slight inflation of the cheeks meant a faint blush; vigorous inflation, repeated a few times, meant “suffused with crimson”; a swift, lightning-like drawing down of the corners of the mouth was turning pale; a complete rolling over of the under lip was downright ghostly pallor. The course that the piece was to take was not sketched in advance, but was left to the spontaneous development of the conversations and feelings, for in it we really felt awaking interest in each other, budding affection, and usually, to end with, glowing love that led to union for life. Such a dialogized novel often lasted for days; for we could not go on playing without interruption, since we were called away by other occupations,—lessons, walks, meals, etc. The presence of our mothers did not always disturb us: we sat down in another corner of the room, out of hearing, said “Puff,” and the gloomy Alexander, or whatever was the name of the hero of the day, was there again. To be sure we liked the game better when we were alone, for then the dialogue could be accompanied with telling gestures, and emotion could be expressed by raising our voices. When such a comedy was played through, a new hero and a new situation must be devised. Not always did something suggest itself; if not, we sat or walked together in a state of sober paff, or chatted, till suddenly the one or the other cried _Wasatem_.