XXIII.
GRANDMOTHER
Grandmother grew weaker from day to day. Her bell, the voice of gruff Gásha, and the slamming of the doors were heard with increasing frequency in her room, and she no longer received us in her cabinet, seated in her armchair, but in her chamber, lying upon a high bed with lace-covered pillows. When I greeted her, I noticed a light yellow shining swelling on her hand, and in the room was a heavy odour, such as I had smelled five years before in mother's room. The doctor called upon her three times a day, and several consultations had taken place.
But her character, her proud, ceremonious treatment of all the people of the house, especially of papa, had not changed in the least. She stretched her words as before, and raised her brows and said: "My dear!"
We had not been admitted to her presence for several days, when one morning St. Jérôme proposed to me during class hours that I should go out driving with Lyúbochka and Kátenka. Though, while seating myself in the sleigh, I noticed that the street was covered with straw under grandmother's windows, and that some strange people in blue cloaks were standing near our gate, I could not make out why we were sent out driving at such an inauspicious hour. On that day, and during the drive, Lyúbochka and I were, for some reason, in that unusually happy frame of mind when every incident, every word, every motion caused us to laugh.
234
