making her sit beside her, the old lady did not know what to do next and began looking at me with naive expectation. The old man frowned, almost suspecting why I had brought Nellie. Seeing that I was noticing his fretful expression and frowning brows, he put his hand to his head and said:
“My head aches, Vanya.”
All this time we sat without speaking. I was considering how to begin. It was twilight in the room, a black storm-cloud was coming over the sky, and there came again a rumble of thunder in the distance.
“We’re getting thunder early this spring,” said the old man. But I remember in ‘37 there were thunderstorms even earlier.”
Anna Andreyevna sighed.
“Shall we have the samovar?” she asked timidly, but no one answered, and she turned to Nellie again.
“What is your name, my darling?” she asked.
Nellie uttered her name in a faint voice, and her head drooped lower than ever. The old man looked at her intently.
“The same as Elena, isn’t it?” Anna Andreyevna went on with more animation..
“Yes,” answered Nellie.
And again a moment of silence followed.
“Praskovya Andreyevna’s sister had a niece whose name was Elena; and she used to be called Nellie, too, I remember.” observed Nikolay Sergeyitch.
“And have you no relations, my darling, neither father nor mother?” Anna Andreyevna asked again.
“No,” Nellie jerked out in a timid whisper.
“I’d heard so, I’d heard so. Is it long since your mother died?”
“No, not long.”
“Poor darling, poor little orphan,” Anna Andreyevna went on, looking at her compassionately.
The old man was impatiently drumming on the table with his fingers.
“Your mother was a foreigner, wasn’t she? You told me so, didn’t you, Ivan Petrovitch?” the old lady persisted timidly.
Nellie stole a glance at me out of her black eyes, as though begging me to help her. She was breathing in hard, irregular gasps.
“Her mother was the daughter of an Englishman and a Russian woman; so she was more a Russian, Anna Andreyevna. Nellie was born abroad.”
“Why, did her mother go to live abroad when she was married?”
Nellie suddenly flushed crimson. My old friend guessed at once, that she had blundered, and trembled under a wrathful glance from her husband. He looked at her severely and turned away to the window.
“Her mother was deceived by a base, bad man,” he brought out suddenly, addressing Anna Andreyevna. “She left her father on his account, and gave her father’s money into her lover’s keeping; and he got it from her by a trick, took her abroad, robbed and deserted her. A good friend remained true to her and helped her up to the time of his death. And when he died she came, two years ago, back to Russia, to her father. Wasn’t that what you told us, Vanya?” he asked me abruptly.
Nellie got up in great agitation, and tried to move towards the door.
“Come here, Nellie,” said the old man, holding out his hand to her at last. “Sit here, sit beside me, here, sit down.”
He bent down, kissed her and began softly stroking her head. Nellie was quivering all over, but she controlled herself. Anna Andreyevna with emotion and joyful hope saw how her Nikolay Sergeyitch was at last beginning to take to the orphan.
“I know, Nellie, that a wicked man, a wicked, unprincipled man ruined your mother, but I know, too, that she loved and honoured her father,” the old man, still stroking Nellie’s head, brought out with some excitement, unable to resist throwing down this challenge to us.
A faint flush suffused his pale cheeks, but he tried not to look at us.
“Mother loved grandfather better than he loved her,” Nellie asserted timidly but firmly. She, too, tried to avoid looking at anyone.
“How do you know?” the old man asked sharply, as impulsive as a child, though he seemed ashamed of his impatience.
“I know,” Nellie answered jerkily. “He would not receive mother, and ... turned her away. . . .”
I saw that Nikolay Sergeyitch was on the point of saying something, making some reply such as that the father had good reason not to receive her, but he glanced at us and was silent.
“Why, where were you living when your grandfather wouldn’t receive you?” asked Anna Andreyevna, who showed a sudden obstinacy and desire to continue the conversation on that subject.
“When we arrived we were a long while looking for grandfather,” answered Nellie; “but we couldn’t find him anyhow. Mother told me then that grandfather had once been very rich, and meant to build a factory, but that now he was very poor because the man that mother went away with had taken all grandfather’s money from her and wouldn’t give it back. She told me that herself.”
“Hm!” responded the old man.
“And she told me, too,” Nellie went on, growing more and more earnest, and seeming anxious to answer Nikolay Sergeyitch, though she addressed Anna Andreyevna, “she told me that grandfather was very angry with her, and that she had behaved very wrongly to him; and that she had no one in the whole world but grandfather. And when she told me this she cried. ‘He will never forgive me,’ she said when first we arrived, but perhaps he will see you and love you, and for your sake he will forgive me,’ Mother was very fond of me, and she always used to kiss me when she said this, and she was very much afraid of going to grandfather. She taught me to pray for grandfather, she used to pray herself, and she told me a great deal of how she used to live in old days with grandfather, and how grandfather used to love her above everything. She used to play the piano to him and read to him in the evening, and grandfather used to kiss her and give her lots of presents. He used to give her everything; so that one day they had a quarrel on mother’s nameday, because grandfather thought mother didn’t know what present he was going to give her, and mother had found out long before. Mother wanted ear-rings, and grandfather tried to deceive her and told her it was going to be a brooch, not ear-rings; and when he gave her the ear-rings and saw that mother knew that it was going to be ear-rings and not a brooch, he was angry that mother had found out and wouldn’t speak to her for half the day, but afterwards he came of his own accord to kiss her and ask her forgiveness.”
Nellie was carried away by her story, and there was a flush on her pale, wan little cheek. It was evident that more than once in their corner in the basement the mother had talked to her little Nellie of her happy days in the past, embracing and kissing the little girl who was all that was left to her in life, and weeping over her, never suspecting what a powerful effect these stories had on the frail child’s morbidly sensitive and prematurely developed feelings.
But Nellie seemed suddenly to check herself. She looked mistrustfully around and was mute again. The old man frowned and drummed on the table again. A tear glistened in Anna Andreyevna’s eye, and she silently wiped it away with her handkerchief.
“Mother came here very ill,” Nellie went on in a low voice.
Her chest was very bad. We were looking for grandfather a long time and we couldn’t find him; and we took a corner in an underground room.”
“A corner, an invalid!” cried Anna Andreyevna.
“Yes ... a corner . . answered Nellie. “Mother was poor. Mother told me,” she added with growing earnestness, “that it’s no sin to be poor, but it’s a sin to be rich and insult people, and that God was punishing her.”
“It was in Vassilyevsky Island you lodged? At Mme. Bubnov’s, wasn’t it?” the old man asked, turning to me, trying to throw a note of unconcern into his question. He spoke as though he felt it awkward to remain sitting silent.
“No, not there. At first it was in Myestchansky Street,” Nellie answered. “It was very dark and damp there,” she added after a pause, “and mother got very ill there, though she was still walking about then. I used to wash the clothes for her, and she used to cry. There used to be an old woman living there, too, the widow of a captain; and there was a retired clerk, and he always came in drunk and made a noise every night. I was dreadfully afraid of him.
