With
supple movement she walked about the room and looked in front of her
with the deep gaze of her dim eyes. She seemed still taller,
straighter, and thinner; her lean, stern face wore a concentrated
expression, and her lips were nervously compressed. The stillness
in the room soon calmed the mother, and noticing Liudmila's mood she
asked guiltily and softly:
"Maybe I said something that wasn't quite right?"
Liudmila quickly turned around and looked at her as if in fright.
"It's all right," she said rapidly, stretching out her hand to the
mother as if desiring to arrest something. "But we'll not speak
about it any more. Let it remain as it was said; let it remain.
Yes." And in a calmer tone she continued: "It's time for you to
start soon; it's far."
"Yes, presently. I'm glad! Oh, how glad I am! If you only knew!
I'm going to carry the word of my son, the word of my blood. Why,
it's like one's own soul!"
She smiled; but her smile did not find a clear reflection in the
face of Liudmila. The mother felt that Liudmila chilled her joy
by her restraint; and the stubborn desire suddenly arose in her to
pour into that obstinate soul enveloped in misery her own fire, to
burn her, too, let her, too, sound in unison with her own heart full
of joy.
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