"Nothing! First we say how-do-you-do, then we all sit round the table, and father treats us with coffee and pies. You know Sonia eats the meat-pies, but I can't endure meat-pies! I like the pies made of cabbage and eggs. We eat such a lot that we have to try hard to eat as much as we can at dinner, for fear mother should notice." "What do you talk about?" "With father? About anything. He kisses us, he hugs us, tells us all sorts of amusing jokes. Do you know, he says when we are grown up he is going to take us to live with him. Sonia does not want to go, but I agree. Of course, I should miss mother; but, then, I should write her letters! It's a queer idea, but we could come and visit her on holidays--couldn't we? Father says, too, that he will buy me a horse. He's an awfully kind man! I can't understand why mother does not ask him to come and live with us, and why she forbids us to see him. You know he loves mother very much. He is always asking us how she is and what she is doing. When she was ill he clutched his head like this, and . . . and kept running about. He always tells us to be obedient and respectful to her. Listen. Is it true that we are unfortunate?" "H'm! . . . Why?" "That's what father says. 'You are unhappy children,' he says. It's strange to hear him, really. 'You are unhappy,' he says, 'I am unhappy, and mother's unhappy. You must pray to God,' he says; 'for yourselves and for her.'" Alyosha let his eyes rest on a stuffed bird and sank into thought. "So . . ." growled Belyaev. "So that's how you are going on. You arrange meetings at restaurants. And mother does not know?" "No-o. . . . How should she know? Pelagea would not tell her for anything, you know. The day before yesterday he gave us some pears. As sweet as jam! I ate two." "H'm! . . . Well, and I say . . Listen. Did father say anything about me?" "About you? What shall I say?" Alyosha looked searchingly into Belyaev's face and shrugged his shoulders. "He didn't say anything particular." "For instance, what did he say?" "You won't be offended?" "What next? Why, does he abuse me?" "He doesn't abuse you, but you know he is angry with you. He says mother's unhappy owing to you . . . and that you have ruined mother. You know he is so queer! I explain to him that you are kind, that you never scold mother; but he only shakes his head." "So he says I have ruined her?" "Yes; you mustn't be offended, Nikolay Ilyitch." Belyaev got up, stood still a moment, and walked up and down the drawing-room. "That's strange and . . . ridiculous!" he muttered, shrugging his shoulders and smiling sarcastically. "He's entirely to blame, and I have ruined her, eh? An innocent lamb, I must say. So he told you I ruined your mother?" "Yes, but . . . you said you would not be offended, you know."