He pulled the blanket up to his chin, and
screwed up his eyes as if dazzled by too brilliant a light.
Noticing that she embarrassed him by her presence and that he could
not make up his mind to eat, Sasha rose and walked away. Then Ivan
sat up in bed and looked at the door through which she had left.
"Be-au-tiful!" he murmured.
His eyes were bright and merry; his teeth fine and compact; his
young voice was not yet steady as an adult's.
"How old are you?" the mother asked thoughtfully.
"Seventeen years."
"Where are your parents?"
"In the village. I've been here since I was ten years old. I got
through school and came here. And what is your name, comrade?"
This word, when applied to her, always brought a smile to the
mother's face and touched her.
"Why do you want to know?"
The youth, after an embarrassed pause, explained:
"You see, a student of our circle, that is, a fellow who used to
read to us, told us about Pavel's mother--a workingman, you know--
and about the first of May demonstration."
She nodded her head and pricked up her ears.
"He was the first one who openly displayed the banner of our party,"
the youth declared with pride--a pride which found a response in
the mother's heart.
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