at a table and opened a book. But I thought he was looking at me and looked round myself. He smiled, I laughed, and had to stop my prayers.
“Have you prayed already?” I asked.
“Yes. But you go; I’ll go away.”
“You do say your prayers, I hope?”
He made no answer and was about to leave the room when I stopped him.
“Darling, for my sake, please repeat the prayers with me!” He stood up beside me, dropped his arms awkwardly, and began, with a serious face and some hesitation. Occasionally he turned towards me, seeking signs of approval and aid in my face.
When he came to an end, I laughed and embraced him.
“I feel just as if I were ten! And you do it all!” he said, blushing and kissing my hands.
Our house was one of those old-fashioned country houses in which several generations have passed their lives together under one roof, respecting and loving one another. It was all redolent of good sound family traditions, which as soon as I entered it seemed to become mine too. The management of the household was carried on by Tatyána Semënovna, my mother-in-law, on old-fashioned lines. Of grace and beauty there was not much; but, from the servants down to the furniture and food, there was abundance of everything, and a general cleanliness, solidity, and order, which inspired respect. The drawing room furniture was arranged symmetrically; there were portraits on the walls, and the floor was covered with homemade carpets and mats. In the morning room there was an old piano, with chiffoniers of two different patterns,