She sat down.
He bent down to her with a pale face, little tears glistened brightly in the corners of his eyes, and his lips trembled.

For a moment he was silent.

The mother looked at him, and was silent also.
The Little Russian, whistling softly, passed by them with bent head and walked out into the yard.
"Thank you, mother," said Pavel in a deep, low voice, pressing her hand with his trembling fingers.

"Thank you, my dear, my own mother!" Rejoiced at the agitated expression of her son's face and the touching sound of his voice, she stroked his hair and tried to restrain the palpitation of her heart.

She murmured softly: "Christ be with you! What have I done for you?
It isn't I who have made you what you are.