“We shall see who is going to leave,” replied Sónya, casting a cursory glance at her mother, as though she felt uneasy speaking in her presence. “We shall see who is going to leave,” she continued. “I am not afraid for myself, neither am I for Serézha.” (Serézha was walking up and down in the room, thinking of how clothes would be ordered for him tomorrow, and wondering whether he had better go to the tailor, or send for him; he was not interested in Sónya’s conversation with his father.) Sónya began to laugh.

“What is the matter? What?” asked her father.

“You are younger than we, papa. Much younger, indeed,” she said, again bursting out into a laugh.

“Indeed!” said the old man, and his austere wrinkles formed themselves into a gentle, and yet contemptuous, smile.

Natálya Nikoláevna bent away from the samovar which prevented her seeing her husband.