They understood the joke and smiled, only my wife did not lift up her face, she was wiping the cups with a clean embroidered cloth. And in the study I saw once again the light-blue wall-paper, a lamp with a green shade and a table with a water-bottle upon it. And it was a little dusty. "Pour me some water out of this," ordered I, merrily. "But you've just had tea." "That doesn't matter, pour me out some. And you," said I to my wife, "take our son and go into the next room for a minute. Please." And I drank the water with delight in small sips, while my wife and son were in the next room, and I could not see them. "That's all right. Now come here. But why is he not in bed by this time?" "He is so glad you have come home. Darling, go to your father." But the child began to cry and hid himself at his mother's feet. "Why is he crying?" asked I, in perplexity, and looked around, "why are you all so pale and silent, following me like shadows?" My brother burst into a loud laugh and said, "We are not silent." And my sister said, "We are talking the whole time." "I will go and see about the supper," said my mother, and hurriedly left the room. "Yes, you are silent," I repeated, with sudden conviction. "Since morning I have not heard a word from you; I am the only one who chats, laughs, and makes merry. Are you not glad to see me then? And why do you all avoid looking at me? Have I changed so? Yes, I am changed. But I do not see any looking-glasses about. Have you put them all away? Give me a looking-glass." "I will bring you one directly," answered my wife, and did not come back for a long time, and the looking-glass was brought by the maid. I looked into it, and--I had seen myself before in the train, at the station--it was the same face, grown older a little, but the most ordinary face. While they, I believe, expected me to cry out and faint--so glad were they when I asked calmly,-- "What is there so unusual in me?" Laughing louder and louder, my sister left the room hurriedly, and my brother said with calm assurance: "Yes, you have not changed much, only grown slightly bald." "You can be thankful that my head is not broken," answered I, unconcernedly. "But where do they all disappear?--first one, then another. Wheel me about the rooms, please. What a comfortable armchair, it does not make the slightest sound. How much did it cost? You bet I won't spare the money: I will buy myself such a pair of legs, better.... My bicycle!" It was hanging on the wall, quite new, only the tyres were limp for want of pumping. A tiny bit of mud had dried to the tyre of the back wheel--the last time I had ridden it. My brother was silent and did not move my chair, and I understood his silence and irresoluteness. "Only four officers remained alive in our regiment," said I, surlily. "I am very lucky.... You can take it for yourself--take it away to-morrow."