Ever since the morning Mamma had been absent-minded, and Grisha’s presence, words, and actions seemed to make her more so.

“By the way, there is something I forgot to ask you,” she said, as she handed Papa a plate of soup.

“What is it?”

“That you will have those dreadful dogs of yours tied up, They nearly worried poor Grisha to death when he entered the courtyard, and I am sure they will bite the children some day.”

No sooner did Grisha hear himself mentioned that he turned towards our table and showed us his torn clothes.  Then, as he went on with his meal, he said:  “He would have let them tear me in pieces, but God would not allow it!  What a sin to let the dogs loose—­a great sin!  But do not beat him, master; do not beat him!  It is for God to forgive!  It is past now!”

“What does he say?” said Papa, looking at him gravely and sternly.  “I cannot understand him at all.”

“I think he is saying,” replied Mamma, “that one of the huntsmen set the dogs on him, but that God would not allow him to be torn in pieces, Therefore he begs you not to punish the man.”

“Oh, is that it?” said Papa, “How does he know that I intended to punish the huntsman?  You know, I am not very fond of fellows like this,” he added in French, “and this one offends me particularly.  Should it ever happen that—­”

“Oh, don’t say so,” interrupted Mamma, as if frightened by some thought.  “How can you know what he is?”

“I think I have plenty of opportunities for doing so, since no lack of them come to see you—­all of them the same sort, and probably all with the same story.”

I could see that Mamma’s opinion differed from his, but that she did not mean to quarrel about it.

“Please hand me the cakes,” she said to him, “Are they good to-day or not?”

“Yes, I am angry,” he went on as he took the cakes and put them where Mamma could not reach them, “very angry at seeing supposedly reasonable and educated people let themselves be deceived,” and he struck the table with his fork.

“I asked you to hand me the cakes,” she repeated with outstretched hand.

“And it is a good thing,” Papa continued as he put the hand aside, “that the police run such vagabonds in.  All they are good for is to play upon the nerves of certain people who are already not over-strong in that respect,” and he smiled, observing that Mamma did not like the conversation at all.  However, he handed her the cakes.

“All that I have to say,” she replied, “is that one can hardly believe that a man who, though sixty years of age, goes barefooted winter and summer, and always wears chains of two pounds’ weight, and never accepts the offers made to him to live a quiet, comfortable life—­it is difficult to believe that such a man should act thus out of laziness.”  Pausing a moment, she added with a sigh:  “As to predictions, je suis payee pour y croire, I told you, I think, that Grisha prophesied the very day and hour of poor Papa’s death?”