“Yes, my lady.”
“Elise, when you see the mountains do you not feel homesick for Switzerland?”
“Yes, my lady.” And Elise stooped down to set out my slippers and to hide the flush that rose to her face.
“I am homesick, too, Elise. I am homesick I hardly know for what—homesick for solitude and peace.”
She made no reply.
“Should I find them in your Switzerland, do you think?”
Elise Perrier shakes her head and answers in a low tone: “No, my lady. Swiss homesickness and Russian homesickness are different.”
“In what way?”
“We Swiss are homesick for—how shall I say?—for the outside things we are far away from ... homesick for mountains and pine-trees and villages. But Russians are homesick for what they miss in their own hearts.”
“You are right, Elise.”