The mother felt herself not needed, and carefully freeing her hand, went to the door, bowing to Yegor.
"Are you going?" the physician asked softly without looking around.
"Yes."
In the street she thought with pity of Liudmila, remembering her scant tears. She couldn't even have a good cry. Then she pictured to herself Liudmila and the physician in the extremely light white room, the dead eyes of Yegor behind them. A compassion for all people oppressed her. She sighed heavily, and hastened her pace, driven along by her tumultuous feelings.
"I must hurry," she thought in obedience to a sad but encouraging power that jostled her from within.
The whole of the following day the mother was busy with preparations for the funeral. In the evening when she, Nikolay, and Sofya were drinking tea, quietly talking about Yegor, Sashenka appeared, strangely brimming over with good spirits, her cheeks brilliantly red, her eyes beaming happily. She seemed to be filled with some joyous hope. Her animation contrasted sharply with the mournful gloom of the others. The discordant note disturbed them and dazzled them like a fire that suddenly flashes in the darkness. Nikolay thoughtfully struck his fingers on the table and smiled quietly.
"You're not like yourself to-day, Sasha."
"Perhaps," she laughed happily.
The mother looked at her in mute remonstrance, and Sofya observed in a tone of admonishment:
"And we were talking about Yegor Ivanovich."