She
bent her head and her fingers trembled as she arranged her hair.
"All right," replied the mother. "You can rest assured he won't
betray himself."
"How strong he is!" murmured the girl quietly.
"He has never been sick," replied the mother. "Why, you are all
in a shiver! I'll get you some tea, and some raspberry jam."
"That's fine!" exclaimed the girl with a faint smile. "But don't
you trouble! It's too late. Let me do it myself."
"What! Tired as you are?" the mother reproached her, hurrying into
the kitchen, where she busied herself with the samovar. The girl
followed into the kitchen, sat down on the bench, and folded her
hands behind her head before she replied:
"Yes, I'm very tired! After all, the prison makes one weak. The
awful thing about it is the enforced inactivity. There is nothing
more tormenting. We stay a week, five weeks. We know how much
there is to be done. The people are waiting for knowledge. We're
in a position to satisfy their wants, and there we are locked up
in a cage like animals! That's what is so trying, that's what
dries up the heart!"
"Who will reward you for all this?" asked the mother; and with a
sigh she answered the question herself.
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