Sasha loved sweets. He was pleased that Liudmilla had brought him some sweet things. For this he loved her still more tenderly. * * * * * Liudmilla sprinkled Sasha with lusciously aromatic scents. Their aroma astonished Sasha. It was at once overpoweringly sweet, intoxicating and radiantly hazy--like a sinful golden sunrise seen through an early white mist. Sasha said: "What a strange perfume!" "Try it on your hand," advised Liudmilla. And she gave him an ugly, four-cornered jar, rounded at the edges. Sasha looked at it against the light. It was a bright yellow liquid. It had a large, highly coloured label with a French inscription--it was cyclamen from Piver's. Sasha took hold of the flat glass stopper, pulled it out and smelled at the perfume. Then he did as Liudmilla liked to do--he put his palm on the mouth of the bottle, turned it over quickly and then turned it upright again. Then he rubbed between his palms the few drops of cyclamen that remained and smelled his hand attentively. The spirit in the scent evaporated and the pure aroma remained. Liudmilla looked at him with expectancy. Sasha said indecisively: "It smells a little of insects." "Don't tell lies, please," said Liudmilla in vexation. She put some of the scent on her hand and smelled it. Sasha repeated: "Yes, of insects." Liudmilla suddenly flared up, so that small tears glistened in her eyes. She struck Sasha across the cheek and cried: "Oh, you wicked boy! That's for your insects!" "That was a healthy smack," said Sasha, and he laughed and kissed Liudmilla's hand. "But why are you so angry, dearest Liudmillotchka? What do you think it does smell of?" He was not at all angry at the blow--he was completely bewitched by Liudmilla. "What does it smell of?" asked Liudmilla, and caught hold of Sasha by the ear. "I'll tell you what, but first I'm going to pull your ear for you." "Oi-oi-oi! Liudmillotchka darling, I won't do it again!" exclaimed Sasha, frowning with pain and pulling away from her. Liudmilla let go of the reddened ear, gently drew Sasha to her, seated him on her knees and said: "Listen--three scents live in the cyclamen--the poor flower smells of ambrosia--that is for working bees. You know, of course, that in Russian this is called 'sow-bread.'" "Sow-bread," repeated Sasha laughingly. "That's a funny name." "Now, don't laugh, you young scamp," said Liudmilla as she caught hold of his other ear, and continued: "Ambrosia, and the bees humming over it, that's the flower's joy. The flower also smells of vanilla. Now this is not for the bees, but for him of whom they dream, and this is the flower's desire--the flower and the golden sun above it. The flower's third perfume smells of the sweet tender body for the lover, and this is its love--the poor flower and the heavy midday sultriness. The bee, the sun and the sultriness--do you understand, my dear?"