Elena Kirillovna greets Glasha with her customary observation:
“Glasha, when am I to have my coffee? I ring and ring, and no one comes. You, girl, seem to sleep like the dead.”
Glasha’s face assumes a look of astonishment and fear. Restraining a yawn, she bends down to put a disarranged rug in order, and puts a pair of soft, worn slippers closer to the bed. Then assuming an excessively tender, deferential tone which old gentlewomen like in their servants, she remarks:
“Forgive me, barinya,[2] it shan’t take a minute. But how early you are awake to-day, barinya! Did you have a bad night?”
Elena Kirillovna replies:
“What sort of sleep can one except at my age! Get me my coffee a little more quickly, and I will try to get up.”
She now speaks more calmly, despite the capricious note in her voice.
Glasha replies heartily:
“This very minute, barinya. You shall have it at once.”
And she turns about to go out.