at him with frightened inquiry, not understanding why he did not reply to what she chiefly wanted to know: how was her brother? Mademoiselle Bourienne put that question for her.
“How is the prince?” she asked.
“His excellency is staying in the same house with them.”
“Then he is alive,” thought Princess Márya, and asked in a low voice: “How is he?”
“The servants say he is still the same.”
What “still the same” might mean Princess Márya did not ask, but with an unnoticed glance at little seven-year-old Nikolúshka, who was sitting in front of her looking with pleasure at the town, she bowed her head and did not raise it again till the heavy coach, rumbling, shaking and swaying, came to a stop.
The carriage steps clattered as they were let down.
The carriage door was opened. On the left there