his eyes. Princess Márya could no longer restrain herself and wept while she gazed at his face.
Again he closed his eyes. His sobs ceased, he pointed to his eyes, and Tíkhon, understanding him, wiped away the tears.
Then he again opened his eyes and said something none of them could understand for a long time, till at last Tíkhon understood and repeated it. Princess Márya had sought the meaning of his words in the mood in which he had just been speaking. She thought he was speaking of Russia, or Prince Andréy, of herself, of his grandson, or of his own death, and so she could not guess his words.
“Put on your white dress. I like it,” was what he said.
Having understood this Princess Márya sobbed still louder, and the doctor taking her arm led her out to the veranda,