She cast her eyes down, hiding them beneath beautiful, snowy, semicircular eyelids, fringed with long arrow-like eyelashes; she bent her lovely face, and a fine rosy hue spread over it. Andrew knew not what to answer; he wished to tell her at once all that he had in his heart, to tell it as warmly as he felt it--but he could not. Something stopped his lips; even his voice failed him; he felt that he could not answer her words--he who had been brought up in the college and in migratory warfare; and he cursed his being a Cossack! At this moment the Tartar came into the room. She had already cut the loaf brought by Andrew into slices, which she brought on a golden dish and set before her mistress. The lovely girl looked at her, at the bread, and lifted her eyes on Andrew: and much did those eyes express! That affecting look, which betrayed her sufferings and the impossibility of telling all the feelings which filled her bosom, was more easily understood by Andrew than any speech. He felt his heart lightened at once; he seemed to have at once lost all confusion, the motions and feelings of his soul which had till then appeared held in subjection by some heavy hand, now seemed to be set free, and uncontrollable streams of words ready to flow forth. But the young beauty turned abruptly towards the Tartar, and hastily asked, "And my mother? hast thou taken it to her?" "She is asleep." "And to my father?" "I have; he said that he would come himself to thank the knight." She took a piece of bread and raised it to her lips. Andrew looked at her with inexpressible delight as she broke it with her white fingers and began eating; but suddenly he remembered the man, driven to frenzy by hunger, who died before his eyes from swallowing a morsel of bread. He turned pale, and seizing her hand, shrieked, "Enough! eat no more! Thou hast not eaten for so long a time, bread may bring death to thee!" She let her hand fall directly, put the bread upon the dish and, like an obedient child, looked into his eyes. And could any words describe -but no; neither chisel, nor brush, nor even the loftiest and most powerful language can express what may sometimes be seen in the eyes of a maiden, or the delightful sensation of him who looks into such eyes.