So passed another year.  Gerasim went on performing his duties as house-porter, and was very well content with his lot, when suddenly an unexpected incident occurred. . . .  One fine summer day the old lady was walking up and down the drawing-room with her dependants.  She was in high spirits; she laughed and made jokes.  Her servile companions laughed and joked too, but they did not feel particularly mirthful; the household did not much like it, when their mistress was in a lively mood, for, to begin with, she expected from every one prompt and complete participation in her merriment, and was furious if any one showed a face that did not beam with delight; and secondly, these outbursts never lasted long with her, and were usually followed by a sour and gloomy mood.  That day she had got up in a lucky hour; at cards she took the four knaves, which means the fulfilment of one’s wishes (she used to try her fortune on the cards every morning), and her tea struck her as particularly delicious, for which her maid was rewarded by words of praise, and by twopence in money.  With a sweet smile on her wrinkled lips, the lady walked about the drawing-room and went up to the window.  A flower-garden had been laid out before the window, and in the very middle bed, under a rosebush, lay Mumu busily gnawing a bone.  The lady caught sight of her.

“Mercy on us!” she cried suddenly; “what dog is that?”

The companion, addressed by the old lady, hesitated, poor thing, in that wretched state of uneasiness which is common in any person in a dependent position who doesn’t know very well what significance to give to the exclamation of a superior.

“I d . . . d . . . don’t know,” she faltered; “I fancy it’s the dumb man’s dog.”

“Mercy!” the lady cut her short; “but it’s a charming little dog! order it to be brought in.  Has he had it long?  How is it I’ve never seen it before? . . .  Order it to be brought in.”

The companion flew at once into the hall.

“Boy, boy!” she shouted; “bring Mumu in at once!  She’s in the flower-garden.”

“Her name’s Mumu then,” observed the lady; “a very nice name.”

“Oh, very, indeed!” chimed in the companion.  “Make haste, Stepan!”

Stepan, a sturdy-built young fellow, whose duties were those of a footman, rushed headlong into the flower-garden, and tried to capture Mumu, but she cleverly slipped from his fingers, and with her tail in the air, fled full speed to Gerasim, who was at that instant in the kitchen, knocking out and cleaning a barrel, turning it upside down in his hands like a child’s drum.  Stepan ran after her, and tried to catch her just at her master’s feet; but the sensible dog would not let a stranger touch her, and with a bound, she got away.  Gerasim looked on with a smile at all this ado; at last, Stepan got up, much amazed, and hurriedly explained to him by signs that the mistress wanted the dog brought