indistinct, though sweet, dreams filled my imagination. A healthy childish sleep closed my eyelids, and a few minutes later I lost consciousness and slept until I was awakened. In my waking moments I felt somebody's hand touching me: by the touch alone I could tell her, even in my sleep, and I involuntarily caught that hand and pressed it hard, very hard to my lips.
Everybody had left; one candle was burning in the sitting-room; mamma had said that she would wake me herself. It was she who seated herself on the chair upon which I was asleep, and with her lovely, tender hand patted my hair. Over my ear was heard the familiar voice:
"Get up, my darling, it is time to go to bed."
No indifferent looks embarrassed her: she was not afraid to pour out all her tenderness and love on me. I did not stir, but kissed her hand even harder.
"Do get up, my angel!"
She touched my neck with her other hand, and her soft fingers moved about and tickled me. It was quiet and half-dark in the room; my nerves were aroused by the tickling and by the waking. Mamma was sitting close to me; she touched me; I scented her odour, and heard her voice. All that caused me to leap up, to embrace her neck with both my hands, to press my head to her breast, and, breathing heavily, to say:
"Oh, my dear, dear mother, how I love you!"
She smiled a sad, bewitching smile, took my head into both her hands, kissed my brow, and placed me upon her knees.
"So you love me very much?" She was silent for a moment, then she said: "Remember, you must always love me; you must never forget me! You will not forget your mamma when she is no more? You will not, Nikólenka?"
She kissed me more tenderly yet.
