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