“Never mind about your hair,” said Vassili. “Don't be so tedious. You're a little bore.” And he kissed me.
Then he sat down and smoked his cigarette, watching me out of narrowed eyelids as I wandered about the room in great trepidation and embarrassment. I was about to kneel down by the bedside to say my prayers, when he suddenly grasped my wrist and held it tightly.
“What are you doing now?” he inquired.
“I am going to say my prayers,” I replied.
“Don't bother about your prayers,” he said. “Try not to be such an awful little bore. Really you are quite insufferable.”
But I would not have missed my prayers for the world. At home prayers had always been a matter of great importance. Olga and I used to say them aloud in unison morning and evening. And now that Olga was far away I must say them alone. I buried my face in my hands and said them devoutly, with all my heart.
They were, I admit, numerous and long; and they were in many languages, for every nurse or governess that came to us in Otrada had taught us new ones; and Olga and I were afraid to leave any out, lest God should be offended; we were also rather doubtful as to which language He understood the best.
I had just come to an English prayer—
Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to keep.