Mamma decided to stay.
"Very well, then, I'll stay here.

But see that Maria does not mix up the wines." Usually it was thus: when mamma sat near Yura as he was falling asleep she held his hand until the last moment--that is what she usually did.
But now she sat as though she were all alone, as though Yura, her son, who was falling asleep, was not there at all--she folded her hands in her lap and looked into the distance.

To attract her attention Yura stirred, but mamma said briefly: "Sleep." And she continued to look.

But when Yura's eyes had grown heavy and he was falling asleep with all his sorrow and his tears, mamma suddenly went down on her knees before the little bed and kissed Yura firmly many, many times.

But her kisses were wet--hot and wet.
"Why are your kisses wet?
Are you crying ?" muttered Yura.
"Yes, I am crying." "You must not cry." "Very well, I won't," answered mother submissively.
And again she kissed him firmly, firmly, frequently, frequently.