Nina Balatka had never yet received such a letter as that.

She saw her lover too frequently to feel much the need of written expressions of love; and such scraps of his writing as there were in the bundles, referred altogether to small matters of business.
When she had thus arranged her papers, she too went to bed.

On the next morning, when she gave her father his breakfast, she was very silent.
She made for him a little chocolate, and cut for him a few slips of white bread to dip into it.

For herself, she cut a slice from a black loaf made of rye flour, and mixed with water a small quantity of the thin sour wine of the country.

Her meal may have been worth perhaps a couple of kreutzers, or something less than a penny, whereas that of her father may have cost twice as much.