But before she had a chance to finish, a man’s loud voice was heard in the antechamber:

“Where is she? Go, Natásha.”

“He!” muttered Márya Ivánovna, walking with long, firm steps toward her brother. She met them all as though she had last seen them the day before.

“When didst thou arrive? Where have you stopped? How have you come⁠—in a carriage?” Such were the questions which Márya Ivánovna put, walking with them to the drawing-room and not hearing the answers, and looking with large eyes, now upon one, and now upon another. Madame Byéshev was surprised at this calm, even indifference, and did not approve of it. They all smiled; the conversation died down, and Márya Ivánovna looked silently and seriously at her brother.

“How are you?” asked Peter Ivánovich, taking her hand, and smiling.