I look toward the children, and I find them asleep in disarray, no less so than the parents. The older sister Tonko, as if asserting her authority as the eldest, has extended her right hand and rests it on her younger sister's ear. Sunko, the younger one, has a leg draped across her older sister's belly in retaliation. The two of them have turned by ninety degrees since crawling into their bedding. Nevertheless, their awkward positions faze them not in the least, and both are sleeping soundly.
The light of spring is special somehow. Somewhere in this artless and most mundane of scenes lies an exhortation, in the form of a soft glimmer, to cherish moonlit nights. Wondering what hour it is, I survey the room. All around is quiet. The only sounds are the ticking of the wall clock, the wife's snoring, and further off the grinding of the maidservant's teeth. This maidservant, when told she grinds her teeth, will firmly deny it. Insisting that she can't recall, ever in her life, having done so, she neither seeks remedy nor offers apology. She simply persists in denial. Since the act is done in her sleep, there's no doubt, of course, that she doesn't recall it. However, absence of recollection does not negate the issue. There are some in this world who perpetuate wrongdoing, all the while convinced of their own virtue. They believe themselves without sin, and one can only laud their innocence, but their impact on others is real, and no amount of innocence can wipe it away. This maidservant, I expect, is descended from gentlemen and gentlewomen of such mettle. -- The hour has grown quite late.