First she made a thorough examination of the little house. It was cleaner than most of the peasants’ huts, so far Sonya must have prevailed, but still its conditions left much to be desired.
Without being able to speak more than a few words of their language, Nona yet managed to give her directions.
She was beginning to guess that the old peasant couple, who at first had seemed mysterious companions for the beautiful Russian woman, were probably old servants. If Sonya was a follower of Tolstoi as her mother had been, she must have refused to recognize any difference between them.
But this was not their feeling. The American girl could see that in spirit old Katja and Nika were the devoted slaves of the younger woman.
Sonya was not at first conscious of the seriousness of her illness.
She wore a dressing gown of some rough homespun, a curious shade of Russian blue, the color of her own eyes. Her hair, which had turned far whiter in the past year, was partly concealed under a small lace cap such as the Russian peasant woman often wears. Then, although she did not seem able to talk, she knew Nona and thanked her for coming and for the advice she was giving the two old people.
But when Nona had finished with her orders she came and sat down near Sonya.
“I have read your letter and I have not been able to answer it until now. It seems like a miracle that I should have found out about my own mother here in a strange land. But perhaps I was meant to take care of you. You must promise to do what I tell you. I must go away now, but I’ll come back in a little while.”
Nona was getting up when Sonya took hold of her skirt.
Her face was flushed and her dark blue eyes shining.