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‘You really must open the window, Njania!’
she exclaimed in her bad Russian.
Njania takes this order as a personal injury.
‘The idea!’ she grumbled between her teeth.
‘Foreign heathen! Why should I open the
window? The children might catch cold.’
Every morning there were skirmishes between
Njania and the governess.
It is late; sunshine fills the room; by and by
the children open their sleepy eyes, but they
don’t think of getting up yet. The first thing
is to have a game in bed, pulling each other’s
legs, chattering and fighting with pillows.
Then a pleasant smell of coffee fills the
room. Njania, who is only half-dressed, and
has exchanged her night-cap for a silk
handkerchief—her invariable headgear during the
day, carries in a tray with a large copper can,
and gives the children their coffee and hot buns
in bed, unwashed and uncombed as they are.
After this, they often go to sleep again, tired
with the preceding game.
Suddenly the door opens with a rush, and on
the threshold appears the angry governess.
‘Comment, vous êtes encore au lit, Annette?
il est onze heures; vous êtes de nouveau en
retard pour votre leçon!’ she bursts out
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