fering from hunger, sir. The wet-nurse had not enough milk for it."
Alekseï Aleksandrovitch considered for a few moments, and then went into the adjoining room. The child was crying as she lay in her nurse's arms, with her head thrown back, refusing the full breast that was offered her, and screamed, without yielding to the blandishments of the two women bending over her.
"Isn't she any better?" asked Alekseï Aleksandrovitch.
"She is very worrisome," replied the old nurse, in a whisper.
"Miss Edwards says that perhaps the nurse hasn't enough milk for her," said he.
"I think so too, Alekseï Aleksandrovitch."
"Why haven't you said so?"
"Whom should I say it to? Anna Arkadyevna is still ill," replied the old nurse, discontentedly.
The old nurse had been in the family a long time, and these simple words struck Alekseï Aleksandrovitch as an allusion to his position.
The child cried harder and harder, losing its breath, and becoming hoarse. The old nurse threw up her hands in despair, took the little one from the wet-nurse, and rocked her as she walked back and forth.
"You must ask the doctor to examine the wet-nurse," said Alekseï Aleksandrovitch.
The wet-nurse, a healthy-looking woman of fine appearance, sprucely dressed, who was afraid of losing her position, muttered to herself, as she fastened her dress over her great bosom, smiling scornfully at the doubt of her not having enough nourishment. In her smile Aleksei Aleksandrovitch also detected ridicule of his position.
"Poor little thing!" said the old nurse, trying to hush the child and still walking back and forth.
Alekseï Aleksandrovitch sat down in a chair, sad and crestfallen, and followed the old nurse with his eyes as she walked up and down with the child. When at last she had pacified it and placed it in the cradle, and, hav-
