“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.