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ended and rest begins. She is sitting on the
sofa with Nastasja.
The room is half dark; only the dim flame of
a tallow candle, which Njania has forgotten to
snuff, and at the opposite end of the room the
flickering bluish light of a lamp that burns
before the image of a saint, are reflected from
the ceiling, where they form all kinds of
fantastic figures, and set off very distinctly
our Saviour’s hand, which comes out from
beneath his silk mantle, and is held forth to
give the blessing.
Tania hears her brother’s regular breathing,
and the heavy snoring of the job-girl, Fekluscha,
with the pug-nose, who lies on the floor before
the chimney, sleeping on a grey rug, which is
spread out there at night and stowed away in a
closet during the day.
Njania and Nastasja are whispering together;
thinking the children are sound asleep, they
gossip freely about domestic affairs. But Tania, who
does not sleep, listens attentively to their talk.
Much of it she does not understand, or does not
care for; sometimes she goes to sleep without
hearing the end of it. However, the scraps
which she understands impress themselves deeply
on her mind and grow to fantastic dimensions in
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