“After that,” replied her grandmother.
“You don’t know, Grandmother,” said Vera with a hopeless sigh. “You have not been a woman like me.”
Tatiana Markovna stooped down to Vera, and whispered in a hardy audible voice, “A woman like you.”
Vera looked at her in amazement, then let her head fall back on the pillow and said wearily, “You were never in my position. You are a saint.”
“A sinner,” rejoined Tatiana Markovna.
“We are all sinners, but not a sinner of that kind.”
“Of that kind.”
Vera seized Tatiana Markovna’s dress with both hands, and pressed her face to hers. The words that came from her troubled breast sounded like hisses. “Why do you slander yourself? Is it in order to calm and help me? Grandmother, do not lie!”
“I never lie and you know it, and how should I begin to do so now. I am a sinner, and myself need forgiveness,” she said, throwing herself on her knees and bowing her grey head.
“Why do you say these things to me?” said Vera, staring at the kneeling woman, and pressing her head to her breast. “Take your words back again. I have not heard them or will forget them; will regard them as the product of a dream. Do not torture yourself for my sake. Rise, Grandmother.” Tatiana Markovna lay on her breast, sobbing like a child. “Why did you tell me this?” said Vera.