every one
had been used to wash and dress for the meal, and then to repair to the
drawing-room as the appointed hour (two o'clock) drew near, and pass
the time of waiting in lively conversation. Just as the clock in the
servants' hall was beginning to whirr before striking the hour, Foka
would enter with noiseless footsteps, and, throwing his napkin over his
arm and assuming a dignified, rather severe expression, would say in
loud, measured tones: "Luncheon is ready!" Thereupon, with pleased,
cheerful faces, we would form a procession--the elders going first and
the juniors following, and, with much rustling of starched petticoats
and subdued creaking of boots and shoes--would proceed to the
dining-room, where, still talking in undertones, the company would seat
themselves in their accustomed places. Or, again, at Moscow, we would
all of us be standing before the table ready-laid in the hall, talking
quietly among ourselves as we waited for our grandmother, whom the
butler, Gabriel, had gone to acquaint with the fact that luncheon was
ready. Suddenly the door would open, there would come the faint swish
of a dress and the sound of footsteps, and our grandmother--dressed in a
mob-cap trimmed with a quaint old lilac bow, and wearing either a smile
or a severe expression on her face according as the state of her health
inclined her--would issue from her room. Gabriel would hasten to precede
her to her arm-chair, the other chairs would make a scraping sound, and,
with a feeling as though a cold shiver (the precursor of appetite)
were running down one's back, one would seize upon one's damp, starched
napkin, nibble a morsel or two of bread, and, rubbing one's hands softly
under the table, gaze with eager, radiant impatience at the steaming
plates of soup which the butler was beginning to dispense in order of
ranks and ages or according to the favour of our grandmother.

On the present occasion, however, I was conscious of neither excitement
nor pleasure when I went in to luncheon. Even the mingled chatter of
Mimi, the girls, and St. Jerome about the horrible boots of our Russian
tutor, the pleated dresses worn by the young Princesses Kornakoff, and
so forth (chatter which at any other time would have filled me with
a sincerity of contempt which I should have been at no pains to
conceal--at all events so far as Lubotshka and Katenka were concerned),
failed to shake the benevolent frame of mind into which I had fallen. I
was