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“I know,” he said, opening his eyes; “it’s my birthday today. I knew
you’d come. I’ll get up directly.”
And saying that he dropped asleep.
Anna looked at him hungrily; she saw how he had grown and
changed in her absence. She knew, and did not know, the bare legs so
long now, that were thrust out below the quilt, those short-cropped
curls on his neck in which she had so often kissed him. She touched all
this and could say nothing; tears choked her.
“What are you crying for, mother?” he said, waking completely up.
“Mother, what are you crying for?” he cried in a tearful voice.
“I won’t cry...I’m crying for joy. It’s so long since I’ve seen you. I
won’t, I won’t,” she said, gulping down her tears and turning away.
“Come, it’s time for you to dress now,” she added, after a pause, and,
never letting go his hands, she sat down by his bedside on the chair,
where his clothes were put ready for him.
“How do you dress without me? How...” she tried to begin talking
simply and cheerfully, but she could not, and again she turned away.
“I don’t have a cold bath, papa didn’t order it. And you’ve not seen
Vassily Lukitch? He’ll come in soon. Why, you’re sitting on my clothes!”
And Seryozha went off into a peal of laughter. She looked at him
and smiled.
“Mother, darling, sweet one!” he shouted, flinging himself on her
again and hugging her. It was as though only now, on seeing her smile,
he fully grasped what had happened.
“I don’t want that on,” he said, taking off her hat. And as it were,
seeing her afresh without her hat, he fell to kissing her again.
“But what did you think about me? You didn’t think I was dead?”
“I never believed it.”
“You didn’t believe it, my sweet?”
“I knew, I knew!” he repeated his favorite phrase, and snatching
the hand that was stroking his hair, he pressed the open palm to his
mouth and kissed it.