"How are you? How are you?"
"Compose yourself, mother." Pavel pressed her hand.
"It's all right! It's all right!"
"Mother," said the warden, fetching a sigh, "suppose you move away from each other a bit. Let there be some distance between you." He yawned aloud.
Pavel asked the mother about her health and about home. She waited for some other questions, sought them in her son's eyes, but could not find them. He was calm as usual, although his face had grown paler, and his eyes seemed larger.
"Sasha sends you her regards," she said. Pavel's eyelids quivered and fell. His face became softer and brightened with a clear, open smile. A poignant bitterness smote the mother's heart.
"Will they let you out soon?" she inquired in a tone of sudden injury and agitation. "Why have they put you in prison? Those papers and pamphlets have appeared in the factory again, anyway."
Pavel's eyes flashed with delight.
"Have they? When? Many of them?"
"It is forbidden to talk about this subject!" the warden lazily announced. "You may talk only of family matters."