gliness. I am certain that nothing so much influences the development
of a man as his exterior--though the exterior itself less than his
belief in its plainness or beauty.

Yet I was too conceited altogether to resign myself to my fate. I tried
to comfort myself much as the fox did when he declared that the grapes
were sour. That is to say, I tried to make light of the satisfaction
to be gained from making such use of a pleasing exterior as I believed
Woloda to employ (satisfaction which I nevertheless envied him from
my heart), and endeavoured with every faculty of my intellect and
imagination to console myself with a pride in my isolation.

VII. SMALL SHOT

"Good gracious! Powder!" exclaimed Mimi in a voice trembling with alarm.
"Whatever are you doing? You will set the house on fire in a moment, and
be the death of us all!" Upon that, with an indescribable expression of
firmness, Mimi ordered every one to stand aside, and, regardless of
all possible danger from a premature explosion, strode with long and
resolute steps to where some small shot was scattered about the floor,
and began to trample upon it.

When, in her opinion, the peril was at least lessened, she called for
Michael and commanded him to throw the "powder" away into some remote
spot, or, better still, to immerse it in water; after which she adjusted
her cap and returned proudly to the drawing-room, murmuring as she went,
"At least I can say that they are well looked after."

When Papa issued from his room and took us to see Grandmamma we found
Mimi sitting by the window and glancing with a grave, mysterious,
official expression towards the door. In her hand she was holding
something carefully wrapped in paper. I guessed that that something was
the small shot, and that Grandmamma had been informed of the occurrence.
In the room also were the maidservant Gasha (who, to judge by her
angry flushed face, was in a state of great irritation) and Doctor
Blumenthal--the latter a little man pitted with smallpox, who was
endeavouring by tacit, pacificatory signs with his head and eyes to
reassure the perturbed Gasha. Grandmamma was sitting a little askew and
playing that variety of "patience" which is called "The Traveller"--two
unmistakable signs of her displeasure.

"How are you to-day, Mamma?" said Papa as he kissed her hand
respectfully. "Have you had a good night?"

"Yes, very good, my dear; you KNOW that I always enjoy sound health,"
replied Gr