dark cotton material, with her long neck uncovered, her scanty dark hair
twisted into a knot on the nape of her neck, no larger than the fist of
a two-year-old child. She looked at us rather cheerfully. Besides the
candlestick, she had on the table in front of her a little peasant
looking-glass, an old pack of cards, a tattered book of songs, and a
white roll of German bread from which one or two bites had been taken.
It was noticeable that Mlle. Lebyadkin used powder and rouge, and
painted her lips. She also blackened her eyebrows, which were fine,
long, and black enough without that. Three long wrinkles stood sharply
conspicuous across her high, narrow forehead in spite of the powder on
it. I already knew that she was lame, but on this occasion she did not
attempt to get up or walk. At some time, perhaps in early youth, that
wasted face may have been pretty; but her soft, gentle grey eyes were
remarkable even now. There was something dreamy and sincere in her
gentle, almost joyful, expression. This gentle serene joy, which was
reflected also in her smile, astonished me after all I had heard of the
Cossack whip and her brother's violence. Strange to say, instead of the
oppressive repulsion and almost dread one usually feels in the presence
of these creatures afflicted by God, I felt it almost pleasant to look
at her from the first moment, and my heart was filled afterwards with
pity in which there was no trace of aversion.

"This is how she sits literally for days together, utterly alone,
without moving; she tries her fortune with the cards, or looks in the
looking-glass," said Shatov, pointing her out to me from the doorway.
"He doesn't feed her, you know. The old woman in the lodge brings her
something sometimes out of charity; how can they leave her all alone
like this with a candle!"

To my surprise Shatov spoke aloud, just as though she were not in the
room.

"Good day, Shatushka!" Mlle. Lebyadkin said genially.

"I've brought you a visitor, Marya Timofyevna," said Shatov.

"The visitor is very welcome. I don't know who it is you've brought, I
don't seem to remember him." She scrutinised me intently from behind the
candle, and turned again at once to Shatov (and she took no more notice
of me for the rest of the conversation, as though I had not been near
her).

"Are you tired of walking up and down alone in your garret?" she
laughed, displaying two rows of magnificent teeth.

"I was tired of it, and I wan