ellmell. Again a loud, angry
voice shouted out, drowning all other sounds. Apparently a catastrophe
had occurred, in which the chief source of pain was an affront offered
to some one. It evoked not complaints, but wrath. Then some kindly and
powerful person appeared, who began to sing, just like Andrey, a simple
beautiful song, a song of exhortation and summons to himself. The
voices of the bass notes grumbled in a dull, offended tone.

Sofya played a long time. The music disquieted the mother, and aroused
in her a desire to ask of what it was speaking. Indistinct sensations
and thoughts passed through her mind in quick succession. Sadness and
anxiety gave place to moments of calm joy. A swarm of unseen birds
seemed to be flying about in the room, penetrating everywhere, touching
the heart with caressing wings, soothing and at the same time alarming
it. The feelings in the mother's breast could not be fixed in words.
They emboldened her heart with perplexed hopes, they fondled it in a
fresh and firm embrace.

A kindly impulse came to her to say something good both to these two
persons and to all people in general. She smiled softly, intoxicated
by the music, feeling herself capable of doing work helpful to the
brother and sister. Her eyes roved about in search of something to do
for them. She saw nothing but to walk out into the kitchen quietly,
and prepare the samovar. But this did not satisfy her desire. It
struggled stubbornly in her breast, and as she poured out the tea she
began to speak excitedly with an agitated smile. She seemed to bestow
the words as a warm caress impartially on Sofya and Nikolay and on
herself.

"We people at the bottom feel everything; but it is hard for us to
speak out our hearts. Our thoughts float about in us. We are ashamed
because, although we understand, we are not able to express them; and
often from shame we are angry at our thoughts, and at those who inspire
them. We drive them away from ourselves. For life, you see, is so
troublesome. From all sides we get blows and beatings; we want rest,
and there come the thoughts that rouse our souls and demand things of
us."

Nikolay listened, and nodded his head, rubbing his eyeglasses briskly,
while Sofya looked at her, her large eyes wide open and the forgotten
cigarette burning to ashes. She sat half turned from the piano, supple
and shapely, at times touching the keys lightly with the slender
fingers of her right h