It seemed to me
that, in the flickering twilight, John and Marie were bringing forward
to me Vera and Nina and Jerry and asking me to look after them.... I
would do my best.
And while I was thinking of these things Vera Michailovna came in. She
was suddenly in the room, standing there, her furs up to her throat, her
body in shadow, but her large, grave eyes shining through the
candlelight, her mouth smiling.
"Is it all right?" she said, coming forward. "I'm not in the way? You're
not sleeping?"
I told her that I was delighted to see her.
"I've been almost every day, but Marfa told me you were not well enough.
She _does_ guard you--like a dragon. But to-night Nina and I are going
to Rozanov's, to a party, and she said she'd meet me here.... Shan't I
worry you?"
"Worry me! You're the most restful friend I have--" I felt so glad to
see her that I was surprised at my own happiness. She sat down near to
me, very quietly, moving, as she always did, softly and surely.
I could see that she was distressed because I looked ill, but she asked
me no tiresome questions, said nothing about my madness in living as I
did (always so irritating, as though I were a stupid child), praised the
room, admired the Benois picture, and then talked in her soft, kindly
voice.
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