perfection of politeness: "You, will excuse me, will you not, Natalia
Nicolaevna?"

The reason for this was that, to avoid catching cold, Karl never took
off his red cap, but invariably asked permission, on entering the
drawing-room, to retain it on his head.

"Yes, pray replace it, Karl Ivanitch," said Mamma, bending towards him
and raising her voice, "But I asked you whether the children had slept
well?"

Still he did not hear, but, covering his bald head again with the red
cap, went on smiling more than ever.

"Stop a moment, Mimi." said Mamma (now smiling also) to Maria Ivanovna.
"It is impossible to hear anything."

How beautiful Mamma's face was when she smiled! It made her so
infinitely more charming, and everything around her seemed to grow
brighter! If in the more painful moments of my life I could have seen
that smile before my eyes, I should never have known what grief is. In
my opinion, it is in the smile of a face that the essence of what we
call beauty lies. If the smile heightens the charm of the face, then the
face is a beautiful one. If the smile does not alter the face, then the
face is an ordinary one. But if the smile spoils the face, then the face
is an ugly one indeed.

Mamma took my head between her hands, bent it gently backwards, looked
at me gravely, and said: "You have been crying this morning?"