“My heart!” she said, in excellent English. “I suffer very much!” She picked up the book. “Do you know any Russian words?” she asked, with a shadowy smile.
“No,” he said; “not one.”
“A beautiful, beautiful language!” said she. “Only listen!”
She began reading him something from the middle of the book. Of course he couldn’t comprehend a word, but he liked to hear it. Her voice was charming, and the foreign sounds entertained him. She turned a page and went on.
“This is an extract from a most beautiful Russian tale,” she explained. “You would surely admire it.”
She continued. Her voice became sad, she made soft, slow gestures with her small dimpled hand.
“Ah, how very sad this is!” she said. “All that is best in Russia is so sad!”
“What’s the story about?” he asked, with curiosity.
“It is about two young men who are in an inn—” she began, when suddenly a bell rang loudly in the room. “My God!” she said mildly. “What is this?”
“I don’t know,” he replied.