same old way. Now as then, she had on a white apron. She brought

him from his aunts a piece of scented soap, with the wrapper just

taken off, and two towels--one a long Russian embroidered one,

the other a bath towel. The unused soap with the stamped

inscription, the towels, and her own self, all were equally

clean, fresh, undefiled and pleasant. The irrepressible smile of

joy at the sight of him made the sweet, firm lips pucker up as of

"How do you do, Dmitri Ivanovitch?" she uttered with difficulty,