The mother calmly suspended the transfer of the books, and poured sour soup and vermicelli soup, while the Gusevs joked her.
"How cleverly Nilovna does her work!" "Necessity drives one even to catching mice," remarked a stoker somberly.

"They have snatched away your breadgiver, the scoundrels! Well, give us three cents' worth of vermicelli.

Never mind, mother! You'll pull through!" "Thanks for the good word!" she returned, smiling.
He walked off to one side and mumbled, "It doesn't cost me much to say a good word!" "But there's no one to say it to!" observed a blacksmith, with a smile, and shrugging his shoulders in surprise added: "There's a life for you, fellows! There's no one to say a good word to; no one is worth it.

Yes, sir!" Vasily Gusev rose, wrapped his coat tightly around him, and exclaimed: "What I ate was hot, and yet I feel cold." Then he walked away.

Ivan also rose, and ran off whistling merrily.
Cheerful and smiling, Nilovna kept on calling her wares: "Hot! Hot! Sour soup! Vermicelli soup! Porridge!" She thought of how she would tell her son about her first experience; and the yellow face of the officer was still standing before her, perplexed and spiteful.