"I never felt him more worthy of respect."
The old woman was silent for a minute.
"Was he tall?" she asked.
"Very tall."
"And very handsome? Come, speak, my daughter."
"He was very handsome," replied Nadia, blushing.
"It was my son! I tell you it was my son!" exclaimed the
old woman, embracing Nadia.
"Your son!" said Nadia amazed, "your son!"
"Come," said Marfa; "let us get to the bottom of this, my child.
Your companion, your friend, your protector had a mother.
Did he never speak to you of his mother?"
"Of his mother?" said Nadia. "He spoke to me of his mother as I
spoke to him of my father--often, always. He adored her."
"Nadia, Nadia, you have just told me about my own son,"
said the old woman.
And she added impetuously, "Was he not going to see this mother,
whom you say he loved, in Omsk?"
"No," answered Nadia, "no, he was not."
"Not!" cried Marfa. "You dare to tell me not!"
"I say so: but it remains to me to tell you that from motives which
outweighed everything else, motives which I do not know, I understand
that Nicholas Korpanoff had to traverse the country completely in secret.
To him it was a question of life and death, and still more, a question
of duty and honor."
"Duty, indeed, imperious duty," said the old Siberian,
"of those who sacrifice everything, even the joy of giving
a kiss, perhaps the last, to his old mother. All that you do
not know, Nadia--all that I did not know myself--I now know.
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