“I only came in to look and did not notice⁠ ⁠… forgive me.⁠ ⁠…”

Nikoláy coughed and said no more. Countess Márya moved away from the door and took the boy back to the nursery. Five minutes later little black-eyed three-year-old Natásha, her father’s pet, having learned from her brother that Papa was asleep and Mamma was in the sitting room, ran to her father unobserved by her mother. The dark-eyed little girl boldly opened the creaking door, went up to the sofa with energetic steps of her sturdy little 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.