"Ninotchka knows nothing!" answered the mother, quickly.
But the colonel sternly interrupted her:
"What is the use of lying? She has read the newspaper . . . let Sergey know that . . . all . . . his own . . . have thought . . . and . . ."
Unable to continue, he stopped. Suddenly the mother's face contracted, her features became confused and wild. Her colorless eyes were madly distended; more and more she panted for breath.
"Se . . . Ser . . . Ser . . . Ser . . ." she repeated, without moving her lips; "Ser . . ."
"My little mother!"
The colonel took a step; trembling all over, without knowing how frightful he was in his corpse-like pallor, in his desperate and forced firmness, he said to his wife:
"Be silent! Do not torture him! Do not torture him! Do not torture him! He must die! Do not torture him!"
Frightened, she was silent already, and he continued to repeat, with his trembling hands pressed against his breast:
"Do not torture him!"
Then he took a step backward, and again thrust his hand into the front of his frock-coat; wearing an expression of forced calmness, he asked aloud, with pallid lips:
"When?"
"To-morrow morning," answered Sergey.
The mother looked at the ground, biting her lips, as if she heard nothing. And she seemed to continue to bite her lips as she let fall these simple words:
