Glasha comes in. She has had time to comb her hair and to put on a pink
blouse, and this makes her seem even thinner. As she is in no haste her
footfalls sound even heavier than before.
Glasha approaches her mistress’s bed and silently throws the bed-cover
aside. She helps Elena Kirillovna to sit on the bed, holding her up
under the arm. Then, getting down on her knees, she helps her mistress
to put on her long black stockings and her soft grey slippers.
Elena Kirillovna holds on to Glasha’s shoulder with her trembling,
nervous hands. She envies Glasha’s youth, strength, and naïve
simplicity. Grumbling under her breath at her unfortunate lot, Elena
Kirillovna imagines in her dejection that she would be willing to
sacrifice all her comfort to become like Glasha, a common servant-maid
with coarse hands and feet red from rough usage and the wet—if she
could but possess the youth, the cheerfulness, the sang-froid, and the
happiness attainable upon this earth only by the stupid.
The old woman grumbles often at her fate, but is quite unwilling to
give up a single one of her gentlewoman’s habits.
Glasha says, “All ready, _barinya._”
“Now my capote, Glasha,” Elena Kirillovna says as she gets up.
But Glasha herself knows what is wanted. She deftly puts on Elena
Kirillovna’s shoulders a white flannel robe.
“Now you may go, Glashenka. I will ring if I want you again.”