“No, no, I thank you.  Probably she is cross because she knows that no one except herself can cut the snuff just as I like it.  Do you know, my dear,” she went on after a pause, “that your children very nearly set the house on fire this morning?”

Papa gazed at Grandmamma with respectful astonishment.

“Yes, they were playing with something or another.  Tell him the story,” she added to Mimi.

Papa could not help smiling as he took the shot in his hand.

“This is only small shot, Mamma,” he remarked, “and could never be dangerous.”

“I thank you, my dear, for your instruction, but I am rather too old for that sort of thing.”

“Nerves, nerves!” whispered the doctor.

Papa turned to us and asked us where we had got the stuff, and how we could dare to play with it.

“Don’t ask them, ask that useless ‘Uncle,’ rather,” put in Grandmamma, laying a peculiar stress upon the word “Uncle.”  “What else is he for?”

“Woloda says that Karl Ivanitch gave him the powder himself,” declared Mimi.

“Then you can see for yourself what use he is,” continued Grandmamma.  “And where is he—­this precious ‘Uncle’?  How is one to get hold of him?  Send him here.”

“He has gone an errand for me,” said Papa.

“That is not at all right,” rejoined Grandmamma.  “He ought always to be here.  True, the children are yours, not mine, and I have nothing to do with them, seeing that you are so much cleverer than I am; yet all the same I think it is time we had a regular tutor for them, and not this ‘Uncle’ of a German—­a stupid fellow who knows only how to teach them rude manners and Tyrolean songs!  Is it necessary, I ask you, that they should learn Tyrolean songs?  However, there is no one for me to consult about it, and you must do just as you like.”

The word “Now” meant “Now that they have no mother,” and suddenly awakened sad recollections in Grandmamma’s heart.  She threw a glance at the snuff-box bearing Mamma’s portrait and sighed.

“I thought of all this long ago,” said Papa eagerly, “as well as taking your advice on the subject.  How would you like St. Jerome to superintend their lessons?”

“Oh, I think he would do excellently, my friend,” said Grandmamma in a mollified tone, “He is at least a tutor comme il faut, and knows how to instruct des enfants de bonne maison.  He is not a mere ‘Uncle’ who is good only for taking them out walking.”

“Very well; I will talk to him to-morrow,” said Papa.  And, sure enough, two days later saw Karl Ivanitch forced to retire in favour of the young Frenchman referred to.

VIII.  KARL IVANITCH’S HISTORY

The evening before the day when Karl was to leave us for ever, he was standing (clad, as usual, in his wadded dressing-gown and red cap) near the bed in his room, and bending down over a trunk as he carefully packed his belongings.