"No, it's too hard for you, Nilovna," said Nikolay. "You'll have to
live outside the city and stop your visits to Pavel, and in general----"
With a sigh the mother said:
"For Pasha it won't be a great loss. And so far as I am concerned
these visits, too, are a torment; they tear out my heart. I'm not
allowed to speak of anything; I stand opposite my son like a fool.
And they look into my mouth and wait to see something come out that
oughtn't."
Sofya groped for the mother's hand under the table and pressed it
warmly with her thin fingers. Nikolay looked at the mother fixedly
while explaining to her that she would have to serve in the new
printing establishment as a protection to the workers.
"I understand," she said. "I'll be a cook. I'll be able to do it;
I can imagine what's needed."
"How persistent you are!" remarked Sofya.
The events of the last few days had exhausted the mother; and now as
she heard of the possibility of living outside the city, away from
its bustle, she greedily grasped at the chance.
But Nikolay changed the subject of conversation.
"What are you thinking about, Ivan?" He turned to the physician.
Raising his head from the table, the physician answered sullenly:
"There are too few of us.
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