"You've been in prison half a year already!"
They spoke to each other about matters of no significance to either. The mother saw Pavel's eyes look into her face softly and lovingly. Even and calm as before, he had not changed, save that his wrists were whiter, and his beard, grown long, made him look older. The mother experienced a strong desire to do something pleasant for him—tell him about Vyesovshchikov, for instance. So, without changing her tone, she continued in the same voice in which she spoke of the needless and uninteresting things.
"I saw your godchild." Pavel fixed a silent questioning look on her eyes. She tapped her fingers on her cheeks to picture to him the pockmarked face of Vyesovshchikov.
"He's all right! The boy is alive and well. He'll soon get his position—you remember how he always asked for hard work?"
Pavel understood, and gratefully nodded his head. "Why, of course I remember!" he answered, with a cheery smile in his eyes.
"Very well!" the mother uttered in a satisfied tone, content with herself and moved by his joy.
On parting with her he held her hand in a firm clasp.
"Thank you, mamma!" The joyous feeling of hearty nearness to him mounted to her head like a strong drink. Powerless to answer in words, she merely pressed his hand.
At home she found Sasha. The girl usually came to Nilovna on the days when the mother had visited Pavel.
"Well, how is he?"