Since the day Valia had heard that the woman had no longer any power to take him, she had lost in his eyes the halo of mysterious fear, which enveloped her like a mist and distorted the features of her thin face, and Valia began to think of her as he did of all other people. He now repeatedly heard that she was unhappy and could not understand why; but this pale bloodless face grew more simple, natural and near to him, the “poor woman,” as they called her, began to interest him, and recalling other poor women of whom he had read, he felt a growing pity and a timid tenderness for her. He imagined that she must sit alone in some dark room, fearing something and weeping, always weeping, as she had wept then when she had come to see him. And he felt sorry that he had not told her the story of Prince Bova better than he had at the time. * * * * * It appeared that three judges could, after all, disagree with the decision of three other judges. The higher court had reversed the decision of the district court, the child was adjudged to his real mother. And the appeal was not considered by the senate. When the woman came to take Valia away with her, Gregory Aristarchovich was not at home, he was at Talonsky’s house and was lying in Talonsky’s bedroom, and only the bald, rosy pate was visible above the sea of snow-white pillows. Nastasia Philippovna did not leave her room, and the maid led Valia forth from it already dressed for the road. He wore a fur coat and tall overshoes in which he moved his feet with difficulty. From under his fur cap looked out a pale little face with a frank and serious expression in the dark eyes. Under his arm Valia carried a book in which was the story of a poor water-nymph. The tall, gaunt woman pressed the boy to her shabby coat and sobbed out: “How you have grown, Valichka! You are unrecognizable,” she said, trying to joke, but Valia adjusted his cap and, contrary to habit, did not look into the eyes of the one who from this day on was to be his mother, but into her mouth. It was large, but with beautiful, small teeth; the two wrinkles on the corners of the mouth were still on the same place where Valia had seen them first, only now they were deeper. “You are not angry with me?” asked mama; but Valia, not replying to her question, said: “Let us be gone.” “Valichka!” came a pitiful scream from Nastasia Philippovna’s room, and she appeared on the threshold with eyes swollen from weeping, and clasping her hands she rushed toward the child, sank on her knees, and put her head on his shoulder. She did not utter a sound, only the diamonds in her ears trembled. “Come, Valia,” sternly said the tall woman, taking his hand. “We must not remain any longer among people who have subjected your mother to such torture--such torture!” Her dry voice was full of hatred and she longed to strike the kneeling woman with her foot.