“What are ‘God’s folk’?” asked Pierre.
“Come, and you’ll see for yourself.”
Princess Márya really was disconcerted and red patches came on her face when they went in. In her snug room, with lamps burning before the icon stand, a young lad with a long nose and long hair, wearing a monk’s cassock, sat on the sofa beside her, behind a samovar. Near them, in an armchair, sat a thin, shriveled, old woman, with a meek expression on her childlike face.
“ André, pourquoi ne pas m’avoir prévenu? ” said the princess, with mild reproach, as she stood before her pilgrims like a hen before her chickens.
“ Charmée de vous voir. Je suis très contente de vous voir ,” she said to Pierre as he kissed her hand. She had known him as a child, and now his friendship with Andréy, his misfortune with his wife, and above all his kindly, simple face disposed her favorably toward him. She looked at him with her beautiful radiant eyes and seemed to say, “I like you very much, but please don’t laugh at my people.” After exchanging the first greetings, they sat down.
“Ah, and Ivánushka is here too!” said Prince Andréy, glancing with a smile at the young pilgrim.
“André!” said Princess Márya, imploringly. “ Il faut que vous sachiez que c’est une femme ,” said Prince Andréy to Pierre.
“André, au nom de Dieu !” Princess Márya repeated.
It was evident that Prince Andréy’s ironical tone toward the pilgrims and Princess Márya’s helpless attempts to protect them were their customary long-established relations on the matter.