At last Glasha has come with the coffee. She has placed a silver tray
on the little round table near the bed. Above the broad blue-and-gold
porcelain cup rises a thin bluish cloud of steam.
Elena Kirillovna draws her scant body higher upon the pillows, and sits
upright in her bed; she seems straight, dry, and thin in her white
night-jacket. With trembling hands she very fastidiously rearranges the
ribbons of her white ruffled nightcap.
Glasha, with great solicitude and skill, has placed a number of pillows
at her back, and these piled up high make a soft wall of comfort.
The little silver spoon held by the old dry fingers rings with fragile
laughter as it stirs the sugar in the cup. Afterwards out of a small
milk-jug comes a generous helping of boiled milk. And Glasha, having
shifted somewhat to the side in order to catch a stealthy look of
herself in the mirror, goes out.
Elena Kirillovna sips her coffee slowly. She breaks a sugared biscuit,
throws half of it in the cup, and leaves it there for a time. Then,
when it is completely softened, she carefully takes it out with the
little spoon.
Elena Kirillovna’s teeth are still quite strong. She is very proud of
this; nevertheless she has preferred of late to eat softer things. She
munches away at the wet biscuit. Her face expresses gratification. Her
small, keen eyes sparkle merrily.
When the coffee is finished Elena Kirillovna lies down again. She dozes
for half an hour on her back, under the bed-cover. Then she rings again
and waits.