“What?” I said to myself as I fled to the drawing-room in a mist of
tears, “To think that Natalia Savishna-just plain Natalia-should say
‘THOU’ to me and rub my face with a wet tablecloth as though I were a
mere servant-boy! It is abominable!”
Seeing my fury, Natalia departed, while I continued to strut about and
plan how to punish the bold woman for her offence. Yet not more than a
few moments had passed when Natalia returned and, stealing to my side,
began to comfort me,
“Hush, then, my love. Do not cry. Forgive me my rudeness. It was wrong
of me. You WILL pardon me, my darling, will you not? There, there,
that’s a dear,” and she took from her handkerchief a cornet of pink
paper containing two little cakes and a grape, and offered it me with
a trembling hand. I could not look the kind old woman in the face, but,
turning aside, took the paper, while my tears flowed the faster--though
from love and shame now, not from anger.