make believe that he was foolish. He had to lisp and give
nonsensical answers; and, of course, he felt like running away from
them as soon as possible. But there were over him and around him and
within him two entirely extraordinary persons, at once big and small,
wise and foolish, at once his own and strangers--his father and mother.

They must have been very good people, otherwise they could not have
been his father and mother; at any rate, they were charming and
unlike other people. He could say with certainty that his father was
very great, terribly wise, that he possessed immense power, which
made him a person to be feared somewhat, and it was interesting to
talk with him about unusual things, placing his hand in father's
large, strong, warm hand for safety's sake.

Mamma was not so large, and sometimes she was even very small; she
was very kind hearted, she kissed tenderly; she understood very well
how he felt when he had a pain in his little stomach, and only with
her could he relieve his heart when he grew tired of life, of his
games or when he was the victim of some cruel injustice. And if it
was unpleasant to cry in father's presence, and even dangerous to be
capricious, his tears had an unusually pleasant taste in mother's
presence and filled his soul with a peculiar serene sadness, which he
could find neither in his games nor in laughter, nor even in the
reading of the most terrible fairy tales.

It should be added that mamma was a beautiful woman and that
everybody was in love with her. That was good, for he felt proud of
it, but that was also bad--for he feared that she might be taken
away. And every time one of the men, one of those enormous,
invariably inimical men who were busy with themselves, looked at