Márya looked round, saw Andrúsha following her, felt that Sónya was right, and for that very reason flushed and with evident difficulty refrained from saying something harsh. She made no reply, but to avoid obeying Sónya beckoned to Andrúsha to follow her quietly and went to the door. Sónya went away by another door. From the room in which Nikoláy was sleeping came the sound of his even breathing, every slightest tone of which was familiar to his wife. As she listened to it she saw before her his smooth handsome forehead, his mustache, and his whole face, as she had so often seen it in the stillness of the night when he slept. Nikoláy suddenly moved and cleared his throat. And at that moment Andrúsha shouted from outside the door: > “Papa! Mamma’s standing here!” Countess Márya turned pale with fright and made signs to the boy. He grew silent, and quiet ensued for a moment, terrible to Countess Márya. She knew how Nikoláy disliked being waked. Then through the door she heard Nikoláy clearing his throat again and stirring, and his voice said
“I can’t get a moment’s peace. … Márya, is that you? Why did you bring him here?”
“I only came in to look and did not notice … forgive me. …”
Nikoláy coughed and said no more. Countess Márya moved away from the door and took the boy back to the nursery. Five minutes later little black-eyed three-year-old Natásha, her father’s pet, having learned from her brother that Papa was asleep and Mamma was in the sitting room, ran to her father unobserved by her mother. The dark-eyed little girl boldly opened the creaking door, went up to the sofa with energetic steps of her sturdy little