“Why don’t you marry him? And have a wedding like other women? This way you take up with all sorts … they only beat you. … But he—he’s good.”

“Hush, go to sleep,” the woman said quietly, bending over her cup of tea.

“He’s rich.”

For a while the woman sat silent, sipping her tea from the saucer with clumsy lips. Then she turned to me as to an old acquaintance.

“That’s the way we live, quietly, he and I, and nobody else. In the court-yard they scold me, call me a loose woman. Well, I’m not ashamed before anybody. Besides, you see what a mess I am, everyone sees right away what I’m good for. Yes. Sonny is asleep, the darling. I have a good child, eh?”

“Yes, very.”

“I can’t look at him enough. And what a head he has!”

“Yes, he’s a clever boy.”

“That’s true. His father was a gentleman, an old man.

He was a—what-do-you-call-’em? They have offices—God, I can’t think … they’re busy with papers. …”

“You mean a notary public?”

“Yes, that’s right! He was a dear old man. So kind. He loved me. I was a servant in the house.”

She covered her son’s bare legs with the rags, straightened the dingy pillow under his head, and continued casually:

“And then he died suddenly. It was at night. I had just left him when he dropped to the floor, and that was the end of him. You sell kvass?”

“Yes.”

“In business for yourself?”

“No. I work for someone.”

She moved closer to me, saying:

“Don’t turn up your nose at me, young man. You can’t catch it from me any more. Ask anybody in the street. They all know.”

“I’m not turning up my nose at you.”

Placing on my knee her little hand, the skin of the fingers work-worn and the nails broken, she continued affectionately:

“I’m so grateful to you on Lenka’s account. He’s had a holiday today. It was good of you.”

“I have to go,” I said.

“Where to?” she asked in surprise.

“I’ve something to attend to.”