“Oh yes,” assented Princess Márya, “perhaps that’s it. I’ll go. Courage, my angel.” She kissed Liza and was about to leave the room.
“Oh, no, no!” And besides the pallor and the physical suffering on the little princess’ face, an expression of childish fear of inevitable pain showed itself.
“No, it’s only indigestion? … Say it’s only indigestion, say so, Marie! Say …” And the little princess began to cry capriciously like a suffering child and to wring her little hands even with some affectation. Princess Márya ran out of the room to fetch Márya Bogdánovna.
“ Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! Oh!” she heard as she left the room.
The midwife was already on her way to meet her, rubbing her small, plump white hands with an air of calm importance.
“Márya Bogdánovna, I think it’s beginning!” said Princess Márya looking at the midwife with wide-open eyes of alarm.
“Well, the Lord be thanked, Princess,” said Márya Bogdánovna, not hastening her steps. “You young ladies should not know anything about it.”
“But how is it the doctor from Moscow is not here yet?” said the princess. (In accordance with Liza’s and Prince Andréy’s wishes they had sent in good time to Moscow for a doctor and were expecting him at any moment.)
“No matter, Princess, don’t be alarmed,” said Márya Bogdánovna. “We’ll manage very well without a doctor.”