Let me knit some woolen ones for you, will you, please ?" "Thank you, Pelagueya Nilovna.

Woolen stockings scratch," Natasha answered, smiling.
"I'll make them so they won't scratch." Natasha looked at her rather perplexedly, and her fixed serious glance hurt the mother.
"Pardon me my stupidity; like my good will, it's from my heart, you know," she added in a low voice.
"How kind you are!" Natasha answered in the same voice, giving her a hasty pressure of the hand and walking out.
"Good night, mother!" said the Little Russian, looking into her eyes.
His bending body followed Natasha out to the porch.
The mother looked at her son.

He stood in the room at the door and smiled.
"The evening was fine," he declared, nodding his head energetically.
"It was fine! But now I think you'd better go to bed; it's time." "And it's time for you, too.

I'm going in a minute." She busied herself about the table gathering the dishes together, satisfied and even glowing with a pleasurable agitation.

She was glad that everything had gone so well and had ended peaceably.
"You arranged it nicely, Pavlusha.