reminded Byelyaev of Olga Vassilievna as she was in the first pages of the romance. He had the desire to be affectionate to the boy.
"Come here, whipper-snapper," he said. "Come and let me have a good look at you, quite close."
The boy jumped off the sofa and ran to Byelyaev.
"Well?" Nicolai Ilyich began, putting his hand on the thin shoulders. "And how are things with you?"
"How shall I put it? . . . They used to be much better before."
"How?"
"Quite simple. Before, Sonya and I only had to do music and reading, and now we're given French verses to learn. You've had your hair cut lately?"
"Yes, just lately."
"That's why I noticed it. Your beard's shorter. May I touch it . . . doesn't it hurt?"
"No, not a bit."
"Why is it that it hurts if you pull one hair, and when you pull a whole lot, it doesn't hurt a bit? Ah, ah! You know it's a pity you don't have side-whiskers. You should shave here, and at the sides . . . and leave the hair just here."
The boy pressed close to Byelyaev and began to play with his watch-chain.
"When I go to the gymnasium," he said, "Mother is going to buy me a watch. I'll ask
