[Once, on Christmastide, we had a "party" at Domnika Andreevna Popesku. We had fun, choired, danced to the accompaniment of a very simple orchestra consisting of two guitars, a violin and a clarinet. We acted out farcical episodes, comical and witty. The tables were laid in the next room...
The mother of a major quartering at Domnika Andreevna, the one who had not wanted me to saw firewood for him, was also among the guests. The slip of a wrinkled old woman wearing a kerchief and a pink (for the holiday) blouse was sitting aloof and nobody noticed her.
Suddenly somebody gave a sob. It was unexpected. Everyone shuddered and looked at the corner. The old woman sobbed, the tears poured down her lined greyish cheeks.]
"What's the matter with you? Do you feel sadly?" Zina rushed to the old woman.
"Poor you! How happy you were", - the other sobbed, "how happy you were, and what is in stock for you?"
The tears poured down her lined greyish cheeks...