“Against your will He will save and have mercy on you and bring you to Himself, for in Him alone is truth and peace,” said she in a voice trembling with emotion, solemnly holding up in both hands before her brother a small, oval, antique, dark-faced icon of the Saviour in a gold setting, on a finely wrought silver chain.
She crossed herself, kissed the icon, and handed it to Andréy.
“Please, André, for my sake! …”
Rays of gentle light shone from her large, timid eyes. Those eyes lit up the whole of her thin, sickly face and made it beautiful. Her brother would have taken the icon, but she stopped him. Andréy understood, crossed himself and kissed the icon. There was a look of tenderness, for he was touched, but also a gleam of irony on his face.
“Thank you, my dear.” She kissed him on the forehead and sat down again on the sofa. They were silent for a while.
“As I was saying to you, André, be kind and generous as you always used to be. Don’t judge Liza harshly,” she began. “She is so sweet, so good-natured, and her position now is a very hard one.”
“I do not think I have complained of my wife to you, Másha, or blamed her. Why do you say all this to me?”
Red patches appeared on Princess Márya’s face and she was silent as if she felt guilty.
“I have said nothing to you, but you have already been talked to. And I am sorry for that,” he went on.