"How kind you are!" Natasha answered in the same voice, giving her
a hasty pressure of the hand and walking out.
"Good night, mother!" said the Little Russian, looking into her
eyes. His bending body followed Natasha out to the porch.
The mother looked at her son. He stood in the room at the door
and smiled.
"The evening was fine," he declared, nodding his head energetically.
"It was fine! But now I think you'd better go to bed; it's time."
"And it's time for you, too. I'm going in a minute."
She busied herself about the table gathering the dishes together,
satisfied and even glowing with a pleasurable agitation. She was
glad that everything had gone so well and had ended peaceably.
"You arranged it nicely, Pavlusha. They certainly are good people.
The Little Russian is such a hearty fellow. And the young lady,
what a bright, wise girl she is! Who is she?"
"A teacher," answered Pavel, pacing up and down the room.
"Ah! Such a poor thing! Dressed so poorly! Ah, so poorly! It
doesn't take long to catch a cold. And where are her relatives?"
"In Moscow," said Pavel, stopping before his mother. "Look! her
father is a rich man; he is in the hardware business, and owns much
property.
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