Princess Márya stayed on the veranda. The day had cleared, it was hot and sunny. She could understand nothing, think of nothing and feel nothing, except passionate love for her father, love such as she thought she had never felt till that moment. She ran out sobbing into the garden and as far as the pond, along the avenues of young lime trees Prince Andréy had planted.

“Yes⁠ ⁠… I⁠ ⁠… I⁠ ⁠… I wished for his death! Yes, I wanted it to end quicker.⁠ ⁠… I wished to be at peace.⁠ ⁠… And what will become of me? What use will peace be when he is no longer here?” Princess Márya murmured, pacing the garden with hurried steps and pressing her hands to her bosom which heaved with convulsive sobs.