“You see, Mitenka darling, how good it was you listened to me. See how surprised they were.”
When they were preparing to depart, and Anton Egoritsch was busied in wrapping up Mitia as if he were a delicate flower, which had to withstand the frost, Klaider, who was also getting ready to go out, approached them.
“Mr. Spiridonoff, won’t you please let your son come to us to-day?” entreated the fair boy.
Anton Egoritsch grew red. This time he was angry, and would not even give an answer. He took Mitia into the street, carrying his violin-case, and they stepped into a hired sleigh. Klaider gazed after them and thought, “What a stern father Spiridonoff has.”
When they reached home, Mitia greatly pleased his father. Hardly had he eaten his dinner, when, of his own accord, he snatched up his violin, and commenced playing with a zeal Anton Egoritsch had not observed in him for a long time. The child played without stopping. If now and then he allowed himself a moment’s pause, as soon as the door would open, and Anton Egoritsch appear on the threshold, he would convulsively seize his bow and play on faster. Mitia did not himself realize what made him do this. He was only conscious that if he heard the usual “Mitenka darling, little dove, you must do your best. You must surprise everybody to-morrow,” his hands would begin to tremble, and he would drop the violin to the floor. Therefore he continued to play on and on—to exhaustion, to stupefaction, only not to hear those or any other words from Anton Egoritsch. But when night set in, and the candles were lit, Mitia suddenly put down the violin, and said: “I am sleepy, papa.”
“But how so, Mitenka? You mustn’t go to bed like this. You must first drink some tea and get warm.”
“No, I want to sleep,” declared Mitia, sitting on the side of his bed, and taking off his boots. Anton Egoritsch was going to assist him as was his wont, but Mitia said:
“It’s not necessary, father. I will do it myself,” and he quickly slipped off his clothes and crept under the blanket, adding: “Father, put out the candle.”
Anton Egoritsch was somewhat taken aback by this uncommon behavior. He always undressed Mitia and put him to bed; however, he did not venture to disturb the hero of to-morrow by further questions. He bent down to kiss him good night, but Mitia covered his head, and Anton Egoritsch had to content himself with making the sign of the cross over him and saying:
“Well, sleep, little dove, sleep,” thinking meanwhile that the boy was displaying the capricious nature of the artist. He placed the candle on the chair by the bedside with some matches, and then withdrew on tiptoe, carefully closing the door.