Her heart was wrapped in a soft, warm, daring feeling.

She felt sad, but pleasant and at ease.
"It's all the same!" she thought, stroking her son's hand.

"It can't be helped; it must be so!" She recalled other such commonplace words, to which she had been accustomed for a long time; but they did not give adequate expression to all she had lived through that moment.
"I'll put the dishes on the table; you stay where you are, mother," said the Little Russian, rising from the floor, and going into the room.

"Rest a while.

Your heart has been worn out with such blows!" And from the room his singing voice, raised to a higher pitch, was heard.
"It's not a nice thing to boast of, yet I must say we tasted the right life just now, real, human, loving life.