There was something dreamy and sincere in her gentle, almost joyful, expression.

This gentle serene joy, which was reflected also in her smile, astonished me after all I had heard of the Cossack whip and her brother's violence.

Strange to say, instead of the oppressive repulsion and almost dread one usually feels in the presence of these creatures afflicted by God, I felt it almost pleasant to look at her from the first moment, and my heart was filled afterwards with pity in which there was no trace of aversion.
"This is how she sits literally for days together, utterly alone, without moving; she tries her fortune with the cards, or looks in the looking-glass," said Shatov, pointing her out to me from the doorway.
"He doesn't feed her, you know.

The old woman in the lodge brings her something sometimes out of charity; how can they leave her all alone like this with a candle!" To my surprise Shatov spoke aloud, just as though she were not in the room.
"Good day, Shatushka!" Mlle.

Lebyadkin said genially.
"I've brought you a visitor, Marya Timofyevna," said Shatov.
"The visitor is very welcome.