legs, and having examined the position of her father, who was asleep with his back to her, rose on tiptoe and kissed the hand which lay under his head. Nikoláy turned with a tender smile on his face.
“Natásha, Natásha!” came Countess Márya’s frightened whisper from the door. “Papa wants to sleep.”
“No, Mamma, he doesn’t want to sleep,” said little Natásha with conviction. “He’s laughing.”
Nikoláy lowered his legs, rose, and took his daughter in his arms.
“Come in, Másha,” he said to his wife.
She went in and sat down by her husband.
“I did not notice him following me,” she said timidly. “I just looked in.”
Holding his little girl with one arm, Nikoláy glanced at his wife and, seeing her guilty expression, put his other arm around her and kissed her hair.
“May I kiss Mamma?” he asked Natásha.
Natásha smiled bashfully.