She got up to go away and took her daughter by the hand.

"I like your place here very much," she said, and smiled, and from that
faint, diffident smile one could tell how unwell she really was, how
young and how pretty; she had a pale, thinnish face with dark eyebrows
and fair hair. And the little girl was just such another as her mother:
thin, fair, and slender. There was a fragrance of scent about them.

"I like the river and the forest and the village," Elena Ivanovna went
on; "I could live here all my life, and I feel as though here I
should get strong and find my place. I want to help you--I want to
dreadfully--to be of use, to be a real friend to you. I know your need,
and what I don't know I feel, my heart guesses. I am sick, feeble, and
for me perhaps it is not possible to change my life as I would. But I
have children. I will try to bring them up that they may be of use to
you, may love you. I shall impress upon them continually that their life
does not belong to them, but to you. Only I beg you earnestly, I beseech
you, trust us, live in friendship with us. My husband is a kind, good
man. Don't worry him, don't irritate him. He is sensitive to every
trifle, and yesterday, for instance, your cattle were in our vegetable
garden, and one of your people broke down the fence to the bee-hives,
and such an attitude to us drives my husband to despair. I beg you,"
she went on in an imploring voice, and she clasped her hands on her
bosom--"I beg you to treat us as good neighbours; let us live in peace!
There is a saying, you know, that even a bad peace is better than a
good quarrel, and, 'Don't buy property, but buy neighbours.' I repeat
my husband is a kind man and good; if all goes well we promise to do
everything in our power for you; we will mend the roads, we will build a
school for your children. I promise you."