Then she pictured
to herself Liudmila and the physician in the extremely light white
room, the dead eyes of Yegor behind them. A compassion for all
people oppressed her. She sighed heavily, and hastened her pace,
driven along by her tumultuous feelings.
"I must hurry," she thought in obedience to a sad but encouraging
power that jostled her from within.
The whole of the following day the mother was busy with preparations
for the funeral. In the evening when she, Nikolay, and Sofya were
drinking tea, quietly talking about Yegor, Sashenka appeared,
strangely brimming over with good spirits, her cheeks brilliantly
red, her eyes beaming happily. She seemed to be filled with some
joyous hope. Her animation contrasted sharply with the mournful
gloom of the others. The discordant note disturbed them and dazzled
them like a fire that suddenly flashes in the darkness. Nikolay
thoughtfully struck his fingers on the table and smiled quietly.
"You're not like yourself to-day, Sasha."
"Perhaps," she laughed happily.
The mother looked at her in mute remonstrance, and Sofya observed
in a tone of admonishment:
"And we were talking about Yegor Ivanovich.
Pages:
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414