Léon Tolstoï

Katia Léon Tolstoï

WE were in mourning for our mother, who had died the preceding autumn, and we had spent all the winter alone in the country-Macha, Sonia and I. Macha was an old family friend, who had been our governess and had brought us all up, and my memories of her, like my love for her, went as far back as my memories of myself. Sonia was my younger sister. The winter had dragged by, sad and sombre, in our old country-house of Pokrovski. The weather had been cold, and so windy that the snow was often piled high above our windows; the panes were almost always cloudy with a coating of ice; and throughout the whole season we were shut in, rarely finding it possible to go out of the house.