“It will soon be ready,” Pavel replied; “and cream and everything.”
“Tatiana is Pavel’s wife and just as reliable as he is,” Solomin continued. “Until you get used to things, my dear lady, she will look after you.”
Mariana flung her cloak on to a couch covered with leather, which was standing in a corner of the room.
“Will you please call me Mariana, Vassily Fedotitch; I don’t want to be a lady, neither do I want servants.... I did not go away from there to be waited on. Don’t look at my dress—I hadn’t any other. I must change all that now.”
Her dress of fine brown cloth was very simple, but made by a St. Petersburg dressmaker. It fitted beautifully round her waist and shoulders and had altogether a fashionable air.
“Well, not a servant if you like, but a help, in the American fashion. But you must have some tea. It’s early yet, but you are both tired, no doubt. I have to be at the factory now on business, but will look in later on. If you want anything, ask Pavel or Tatiana.”
Mariana held out both her hands to him quickly.
“How can we thank you enough, Vassily Fedotitch?” She looked at him with emotion. Solomin stroked one of her hands gently. “I should say it’s not worth thanking for, but that wouldn’t be true. I had better say that your thanks give me the greatest of pleasure. So we are quits. Good morning. Come along, Pavel.”
Mariana and Nejdanov were left alone.
She rushed up to him and looked at him with the same expression with which she had looked at Solomin, only with even greater delight, emotion, radiance: “Oh, my dear!” she exclaimed. “We are beginning a new life ... at last! At last! You can’t believe how this poor little room, where we are to spend a few days, seems sweet and charming compared to those hateful palaces! Are you glad?”