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Translator Louise von Cossel is or might still be alive.
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for, his daughters are married, and his sons earn
their living as artisans. Now he lives alone with
his wife and an adopted child, a boy whom they
have taken home to them in their old age.
As soon as his wife catches sight of the
visitors she puts the samovar to the fire, and
then the old couple meet their guests at the door,
bowing deeply, and inviting them to take a cup
of tea. The house is neat and clean, but the
room is stuffy, and smells unpleasantly of incense
and lamp-oil. On account of the winter cold the
windows are very small and tightly closed. It is
rather hard to breathe here, but the room
contains so many interesting things, that the children
readily put up with this drawback and begin to
look about with curiosity. The clay floor is
strewn with fir branches, benches are standing
along the walls, and a jackdaw with clipped
wings is hopping about without being in the
least disturbed by the presence of a black cat,
which is sitting on its hind legs washing itself,
whilst it looks at the intruders with half-closed
eyes and feigned indifference. In one corner
stands a large wooden table covered with a
white embroidered cloth, and above it hangs a
shrine with a Saint and some very old and ugly
pictures.
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