combed his hair and washed his face; he was breathing
heavily, his whole body working, and his little hands waving in the
air, as is the way with all healthy babies; but his smart smock
obviously impressed him, an expression of delight was reflected in
every part of his little fat person. Fenitchka had put her own hair too
in order, and had arranged her kerchief; but she might well have
remained as she was. And really is there anything in the world more
captivating than a beautiful young mother with a healthy baby in her
arms?

'What a chubby fellow!' said Pavel Petrovitch graciously, and he
tickled Mitya's little double chin with the tapering nail of his
forefinger. The baby stared at the siskin, and chuckled.

'That's uncle,' said Fenitchka, bending her face down to him and
slightly rocking him, while Dunyasha quietly set in the window a
smouldering perfumed stick, putting a halfpenny under it.

'How many months old is he?' asked Pavel Petrovitch.

'Six months; it will soon be seven, on the eleventh.'

'Isn't it eight, Fedosya Nikolaevna?' put in Dunyasha, with some
timidity.

'No, seven; what an idea!' The baby chuckled again, stared at the
chest, and suddenly caught hold of his mother's nose and mouth with all
his five little fingers. 'Saucy mite,' said Fenitchka, not drawing her
face away.

'He's like my brother,' observed Pavel Petrovitch.

'Who else should he be like?' thought Fenitchka.

'Yes,' continued Pavel Petrovitch, as though speaking to himself;
'there's an unmistakable likeness.' He looked attentively, almost
mournfully, at Fenitchka.

'That's uncle,' she repeated, in a whisper this time.

'Ah! Pavel! so you're here!' was heard suddenly the voice of Nikolai
Petrovitch.

Pavel Petrovitch turned hurriedly round, frowning; but his brother
looked at him with such delight, such gratitude, that he could not help
responding to his smile.

'You've a splendid little cherub,' he said, and looking at his watch,
'I came in here to speak about some tea.'

And, assuming an expression of indifference, Pavel Petrovitch at once
went out of the room.

'Did he come of himself?' Nikolai Petrovitch asked Fenitchka.

'Yes; he knocked and came in.'

'Well, and has Arkasha been in to see you again?'

'No. Hadn't I better move into the lodge, Nikolai Petrovitch?'

'Why so?'

'I wonder whether it wouldn't be best just for the first.'

'N ... no,' Nikolai Petrovitch brought out hesitatingly, rubbing hi