"You know that the Countess Bärenburg is an Englishwoman."
"And Lady Emily Anthropos's cousin," says Mrs. Joyce. "She is charmed with the betrothal--an extremely suitable match. Bärenburg has received a furlough. Day after to-morrow he goes with his mother and the Anthropos to England. The wedding is to be in June."
Then a short, crashing sound--a cup has fallen from Mascha's hand and broken to bits.
"You are intolerably awkward," says Anna. "Fortunately, the cup was empty."
Mrs. Joyce looks up; her eyes rest on Mascha, who looks pitiable. Her lips are blue, she trembles in her whole frame.
"You have a chill, poor child," says Mrs. Joyce, compassionately.
But, blushing deeply, Mascha turns away her face.
"I begged you to let me stay up-stairs, Anna," she gasps out. "You know that I am ill." And, tottering, she leaves the room.
"She is laughable," murmurs Anna. The old Madame Jeliagin is confusedly silent.
Nita and Sophie took leave. "Poor child," remarked Sophie; "how could Lensky leave her with these people? They torment her crazy."
"Wait for me a little, I would like to see her," says Nita, and hurries up-stairs to the door of Mascha's room. She opens it without knocking. Mascha crouches in an arm-chair, trembling, her teeth chattering. "What do you want?" asks she of Nita.
"I was worried about you, my heart," says Nita. She kneels down near the child, and puts her arms round the trembling young form. "Mascha," whispers she, holding the girl closely to her, "tell me--with me you can speak as if I were your mother--are you ill only, or is there something else which torments you?"
But Mascha, who used so tenderly to lean on Nita, pushes her roughly and angrily from her. "Leave me," she cries, "I am ill, I wish to be alone--go!"
Without paying the slightest attention to Mascha's repellant rudeness, Nita holds the girl still closer to her breast. "I cannot see you so silently martyr yourself, such a poor mite of seventeen, who has no one on whose breast she can really cry herself out! Confide in me. Your grief is certainly not worth the trouble. It is only because you shut it up so in your heart that it seems great to you, my pretty little mouse, my dear little bird!" And Nita kisses her on her curly hair, on both eyes.