The boy, blushing and making no answer, cautiously drew his hand
away. As soon as Stepan Arkadyevitch let go his hand, he glanced
doubtfully at his father, and like a bird set free, he darted out
of the room.
A year had passed since the last time Seryozha had seen his
mother. Since then he had heard nothing more of her. And in the
course of that year he had gone to school, and made friends among
his schoolfellows. The dreams and memories of his mother, which
had made him ill after seeing her, did not occupy his thoughts
now. When they came back to him, he studiously drove them away,
regarding them as shameful and girlish, below the dignity of a
boy and a schoolboy. He knew that his father and mother were
separated by some quarrel, he knew that he had to remain with his
father, and he tried to get used to that idea.
He disliked seeing his uncle, so like his mother, for it called
up those memories of which he was ashamed. He disliked it all
the more as from some words he had caught as he waited at the
study door, and still more from the faces of his father and
uncle, he guessed that they must have been talking of his mother.
And to avoid condemning the father with whom he lived and on whom
he was dependent, and, above all, to avoid giving way to
sentimentality, which he considered so degrading, Seryozha tried
not to look at his uncle who had come to disturb his peace of
mind, and not to think of what he recalled to him.
But when Stepan Arkadyevitch, going out after him, saw him on the
stairs, and calling to him, asked him how he spent his playtime
at school, Seryozha talked more freely to him away from his
father's presence.
"We have a railway now," he said in answer to his uncle's
question. "It's like this, do you see: two sit on a bench--
they're the passengers; and one stands up straight on the bench.
And all are harnessed to it by their arms or by their belts, and
they run through all the rooms--the doors are left open
beforehand. Well, and it's pretty hard work being the
conductor!"
"That's the one that stands?" Stepan Arkadyevitch inquired,
smiling.
"Yes, you want pluck for it, and cleverness too, especially when
they stop all of a sudden, or someone falls down."
"Yes, that must be a serious matter," said Stepan Arkadyevitch,
watching with mournful interest the eager eyes, like his
mother's; not childish now--no longer fully innocent. And though
he had promised Alexey Alexandrovitch not to speak of Anna, he
could not restrain himself.