But he was so healthy, his young life was so strong within him, that even in the moments of most painful suffering his blood played under his skin, reddening his cheeks, and his blue eyes shone brightly and frankly.
But everything was far different from what he had anticipated.
Nikolay Sergeyevich Golovin, Sergey's father, a retired colonel, was the first to enter the room where the meeting took place.

He was all white--his face, his beard, his hair, and his hands--as if he were a snow statue attired in man's clothes He had on the same old but well-cleaned coat, smelling of benzine, with new shoulder-straps crosswise, that he had always worn, and he entered firmly, with an air of stateliness, with strong and steady steps.

He stretched out his white, thin hand and said loudly: "How do you do, Sergey ?" Behind him Sergey's mother entered with short steps, smiling strangely.
But she also pressed his hands and repeated loudly: "How do you do, Seryozhenka ?" She kissed him on the lips and sat down silently.

She did not rush over to him; she did not burst into tears; she did not break into a sob; she did not do any of the terrible things which Sergey had feared.

She just kissed him and silently sat down.