1 My dear mother, if I may call you so.
2 Hush, mother, you're making me ridiculous.
3 Don't leave my mother, Louka, whilst the soldiers are here.
4 My mother and I can understand that notion, as you call it.
5 You would pet him, and spoil him, and mother him to perfection.
6 Really, mother, if you are going to take the jewellery, I don't see why you should grudge me my Arab.
7 She very modestly entertained him for an hour or so and then called in her mother lest her conduct should appear unmaidenly.
8 Only think, mother, I doubted him: I wondered whether all his heroic qualities and his soldiership might not prove mere imagination when he went into a real battle.
9 Her reverie is interrupted by her mother, Catherine Petkoff, a woman over forty, imperiously energetic, with magnificent black hair and eyes, who might be a very splendid specimen of the wife of a mountain farmer, but is determined to be a Viennese lady, and to that end wears a fashionable tea gown on all occasions.