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RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD 47
correctly, she dragged me through the long suite of
rooms to the door of the study, left me to my fate, and
went away.
Crying was no longer of any use; moreover the
anteroom adjoined the study, and there I could see
the face of some idle, curious lackey watching me
with interest.
" Evidently the young mistress has been naughty
again," I could hear behind me the half compassionate,
half jeering voice of papa’s valet Ilya.
I deigned him no reply, and tried to look as if there
were nothing the matter—as if I were going to papa
by my own wish. I could not make up my mind to
go back to the school-room without having complied
with the governess’s orders. That would have been
to intensify my fault by open disobedience; to stand
there at the door, a mark for the laughter of the
lackey, was intolerable. There was nothing left
for me to do but to knock at the door, and bravely
enter to meet my fate.
I knock, but very softly. Several moments, which
seem to me interminable, elapse.
"Knock harder, Mryshnya; papa does not hear,"
remarks that intolerable Ilya, who is evidently much
interested in this whole affair.
There is nothing to be done; I knock again.
" "Who’s there ? Come in," calls father’s voice at
last from the study.
I enter, but halt in the semi-darkness on the
threshold. Father sits at his writing-table with his back
to the door, and does not see me.
" Who’s there ? What’s wanted ?" he cries
impatiently.
" It is I, papa. Margarita Frantzovna has sent me,"
I gulp out in reply.
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