Lelechka was asleep, and Serafima Aleksandrovna was sitting in her own room, thinking with joy and tenderness of Lelechka. Lelechka was in her thoughts, first a sweet, tiny girl, then a sweet, big girl, then again a delightful little girl; and so until the end she remained mamma’s little Lelechka.  
Serafima Aleksandrovna did not even notice that Fedosya came up to her and paused before her. Fedosya had a worried, frightened look.
 
“Madam, madam,” she said quietly, in a trembling voice.
 
Serafima Aleksandrovna gave a start. Fedosya’s face made her anxious.
 
“What is it, Fedosya?” she asked with great concern. “Is there anything wrong with Lelechka?”
 
“No, madam,” said Fedosya, as she gesticulated with her hands to reassure her mistress and to make her sit down. “Lelechka is asleep, may God be with her! Only I’d like to say something—you see—Lelechka is always hiding herself—that’s not good.”
 
Fedosya looked at her mistress with fixed eyes, which had grown round from fright.
 
“Why not good?” asked Serafima Aleksandrovna, with vexation, succumbing involuntarily to vague fears.
 
“I can’t tell you how bad it is,” said Fedosya, and her face expressed the most decided confidence.
 
“Please speak in a sensible way,” observed Serafima Aleksandrovna dryly. “I understand nothing of what you are saying.”
 
“You see, madam, it’s a kind of omen,” explained Fedosya abruptly, in a shamefaced way.
 
“Nonsense!” said Serafima Aleksandrovna.
 
She did not wish to hear any further as to the sort of omen it was, and what it foreboded. But, somehow, a sense of fear and of sadness crept into her mood, and it was humiliating to feel that an absurd tale should disturb her beloved fancies, and should agitate her so deeply.
 
“Of course I know that gentlefolk don’t believe in omens, but it’s a ............