From early childhood, Amalia amazed adults with kindness. She was ready to share everything she had with her loved ones. Selflessly helping her mother, and then her grandmother, she certainly did not realize that by doing so she was creating additional difficulties for herself. Helping someone seemed a matter of course to her. Unselfishness is also unselfishness. Amalia did not expect any gratitude from anyone, she lent her shoulder not at all out of calculation — she simply could not remain indifferent, seeing how hard it was for her relatives.
The class teacher drew Vardan’s attention to Amalia’s temper and at the same time quickness: she sometimes quarreled with a close friend, but after a minute or two she was in a hurry to make peace. Vardan knew well the unforgiving nature of his daughter and did not attach much importance to the mentor’s remark. He was much more excited when his daughter first asked to be invited to the next gatherings of a young man whom she met on the train. Byuzand’s theater troupe went on another tour to Vladikavkaz, and on the way back there was a memorable meeting for Amalia. It happened in the summer of 1908, two months after friends and acquaintances solemnly and cheerfully celebrated her seventeenth birthday, and the impressions of the graduation party at the gymnasium were still fresh.
On the platform of the railway station in Vladikavkaz, Vardan noticed how a young man in a threesome with a tie, much older than Amalia, was studying her intently. Amalia looked quite attractive. By the end of the gymnasium, she turned into a slender and pretty girl. She was wearing a loose dress and high heels. Who would have guessed then that, having accepted the courtship of a young man and married him, she would give birth to him two sons at an interval of two years, and in five years she would turn into a plump, exquisitely dressed woman, accustomed to French perfumes and not recognizing any others.