Nejdanov took her hands and pressed them against his breast.
“I am happy, Mariana, to begin this new life with you! You will be my guiding star, my support, my strength—”
“Dear, darling Aliosha! But stop—we must wash and tidy ourselves a little. I will go into my room ... and you ... stay here. I won’t be a minute—”
Mariana went into the other room and shut the door. A minute later she opened it half-way and, putting her head through, said: “Isn’t Solomin nice!” Then she shut the door again and the key turned in the lock.
Nejdanov went up to the window and looked out into the garden.... One old, very old, apple tree particularly attracted his attention. He shook himself, stretched, opened his portmanteau, but took nothing out of it; he became lost in thought....
A quarter of an hour later Mariana returned with a beaming, freshly-washed face, brimming over with gaiety, and a few minutes later Tatiana, Pavel’s wife, appeared with the samovar, tea things, rolls, and cream.
In striking contrast to her gipsy-like husband she was a typical Russian—buxom, with masses of flaxen hair, which she wore in a thick plait twisted round a horn comb. She had coarse though pleasant features, good-natured grey eyes, and was dressed in a very neat though somewhat faded print dress. Her hands were clean and well-shaped, though large. She bowed composedly, greeted them in a firm, clear accent without any sing-song about it, and set to work arranging the tea things.
Mariana went up to her.
“Let me help you, Tatiana. Only give me a napkin.”
“Don’t bother, miss, we are used to it. Vassily Fedotitch told me to. If you want anything please let us know. We shall be delighted to do anything we can.”