His hesitation was at an end, he blew his nose and was on the point of going out of the room when he suddenly glanced at the little girl and stopped short. He did not see me behind the pots of greenery. It seemed to me that he was greatly excited. Either his calculations had affected his imagination or something else, for he rubbed his hands and could hardly stand still. This excitement reached its utmost limit when he stopped and bent another resolute glance at the future heiress. He was about to move forward, but first looked round, then moving on tiptoe, as though he felt guilty, he advanced towards the children. He approached with a little smile, bent down and kissed her on the head. The child, not expecting this attack, uttered a cry of alarm. "What are you doing here, sweet child?" he asked in a whisper, looking round and patting the girl's cheek. "We are playing." "Ah! With him?" Yulian Mastakovitch looked askance at the boy. "You had better go into the drawing-room, my dear," he said to him. The boy looked at him open-eyed and did not utter a word. Yulian Mastakovitch looked round him again, and again bent down to the little girl. "And what is this you've got--a dolly, dear child?" he asked. "Yes, a dolly," answered the child, frowning, and a little shy. "A dolly ... and do you know, dear child, what your dolly is made of?" "I don't know ..." the child answered in a whisper, hanging her head. "It's made of rags, darling. You had better go into the drawing-room to your playmates, boy," said Yulian Mastakovitch, looking sternly at the boy. The boy and girl frowned and clutched at each other. They did not want to be separated. "And do you know why they gave you that doll?" asked Yulian Mastakovitch, dropping his voice to a softer and softer tone. "I don't know." "Because you have been a sweet and well-behaved child all the week." At this point Yulian Mastakovitch, more excited than ever, speaking in most dulcet tones, asked at last, in a hardly audible voice choked with emotion and impatience-- "And will you love me, dear little girl, when I come and see your papa and mamma?" Saying this, Yulian Mastakovitch tried once more to kiss "the dear little girl," but the red-haired boy, seeing that the little girl was on the point of tears, clutched her hand and began whimpering from sympathy for her. Yulian Mastakovitch was angry in earnest. "Go away, go away from here, go away!" he said to the boy. "Go into the drawing-room! Go in there to your playmates!" "No, he needn't, he needn't! You go away," said the little girl. "Leave him alone, leave him alone," she said, almost crying.