“Do you see?⁠ ⁠… My doll⁠ ⁠… Mimi⁠ ⁠… You see⁠ ⁠…” was all Natásha managed to utter (to her everything seemed funny). She leaned against her mother and burst into such a loud, ringing fit of laughter that even the prim visitor could not help joining in.

“Now then, go away and take your monstrosity with you,” said the mother, pushing away her daughter with pretended sternness, and turning to the visitor she added: “She is my youngest girl.”

Natásha, raising her face for a moment from her mother’s mantilla, glanced up at her through tears of laughter, and again hid her face.

The visitor, compelled to look on at this family scene, thought it necessary to take some part in it.

“Tell me, my dear,” said she to Natásha, “is Mimi a relation of yours? A daughter, I suppose?”

Natásha did not like the visitor’s tone of condescension to childish things. She did not reply, but looked at her seriously.