and. The pensive chord blended delicately with
the speech of the mother, as she quickly invested her new feelings and
thoughts in simple, hearty words.

"Now I am able to say something about myself, about my people, because
I understand life. I began to understand it when I was able to make
comparisons. Before that time there was nobody to compare myself with.
In our state, you see, all lead the same life, and now that I see how
others live, I look back at my life, and the recollection is hard and
bitter. But it is impossible to return, and even if you could, you
wouldn't find your youth again. And I think I understand a great deal.
Here, I am looking at you, and I recollect all your people whom I've
seen." She lowered her voice and continued: "Maybe I don't say things
right, and I needn't say them, because you know them yourself; but I'm
just speaking for myself. You at once set me alongside of you. You
don't need anything of me; you can't make use of me; you can't get any
enjoyment out of me, I know it. And day after day my heart grows,
thank God! It grows in goodness, and I wish good for everybody. This
is my thanks that I'm saying to you." Tears of happy gratitude
affected her voice, and looking at them with a smile in her eyes, she
went on: "I want to open my heart before you, so that you may see how
I wish your welfare."

"We see it," said Nikolay in a low voice. "You're making a holiday for
us."

"What do you think I imagined?" the mother asked with a smile and
lowering her voice. "I imagined I found a treasure, and became rich,
and I could endow everybody. Maybe it's only my stupidity that's run
away with me."

"Don't speak like that," said Sofya seriously. "You mustn't be
ashamed."

The mother began to speak again, telling Sofya and Nikolay of herself,
her poor life, her wrongs, and patient sufferings. Suddenly she stopped
in her narrative. It seemed to her that she was turning aside, away
from herself, and speaking about somebody else. In simple words,
without malice, with a sad smile on her lips, she drew the monotonous
gray sketch of sorrowful days. She enumerated the beatings she had
received from her husband; and herself marveled at the trifling causes
that led to them and her own inability to avert them.

The brother and sister listened to her in attentive silence, impressed
by the deep significance of the unadorned story of a human being, who
was regarded as cattle are regarde