"And your other name?" inquired the mother.
"Vasilyevna. And yours?"
"Pelagueya Nilovna."
"So here we are all acquainted."
"Yes," said the mother, breathing more easily, as if relieved, and looking at the girl with a smile.
The Little Russian helped her off with her cloak, and inquired:
"Is it cold?"
"Out in the open, very! The wind—goodness!"
Her voice was musical and clear, her mouth small and smiling, her body round and vigorous. Removing her wraps, she rubbed her ruddy cheeks briskly with her little hands, red with the cold, and walking lightly and quickly she passed into the room, the heels of her shoes rapping sharply on the floor.