“Papa, I don’t want such a big one.... You could bring me as little a one as you like, so long as it’s alive. As big as this ... a baby elephant.”
“My dear child, I should be glad to do anything for you, but this is impossible. It’s just as if you suddenly said to me, ‘Papa, get me the sun out of the sky.’”
The little girl smiled sadly.
“How stupid you are, papa! As if I didn’t know it’s impossible to get the sun, it’s all on fire. And the moon, too, you can’t get. No, if only I had a little elephant ... a real one.”
And she quietly closed her eyes and whispered:
“I’m tired.... Forgive me, papa....”
Papa clutched at his hair and ran away to his study, where for some time he marched up and down. Then he resolutely threw his unfinished cigarette on the floor—mamma was always grumbling at him about this—and called out to the maid:
“Olga! Bring me my hat and coat!”
His wife came out into the hall.
“Where are you going, Sasha?” asked she.