Nikoláy glanced round at Sónya, and bent down to see her face closer. Quite a new, sweet face with black eyebrows and mustaches peeped up at him from her sable furs⁠—so close and yet so distant⁠—in the moonlight.

“That used to be Sónya,” thought he, and looked at her closer and smiled.

“What is it, Nicolas?”

“Nothing,” said he and turned again to the horses.