I did not answer. She kissed my eyes, and said again in German: "Why did
you cry?"

When talking to us with particular intimacy she always used this
language, which she knew to perfection.

"I cried about a dream, Mamma" I replied, remembering the invented
vision, and trembling involuntarily at the recollection.

Karl Ivanitch confirmed my words, but said nothing as to the subject of
the dream. Then, after a little conversation on the weather, in which
Mimi also took part, Mamma laid some lumps of sugar on the tray for
one or two of the more privileged servants, and crossed over to her
embroidery frame, which stood near one of the windows.

"Go to Papa now, children," she said, "and ask him to come to me before
he goes to the home farm."

Then the music, the counting, and the wrathful looks from Mimi began
again, and we went off to see Papa. Passing through the room which had
been known ever since Grandpapa's time as "the pantry," we entered the
study.




III -- PAPA

He was standing near his writing-table, and pointing angrily to some
envelopes, papers, and little piles of coin upon it as he addressed some