And again the ripe beauty of the garden was bathed in solemn silence.

The fright was still in Ignat's eyes.
"Oh Lord, Jesus Christ!" said he in a low voice, making the sign of the cross.

"Yes.

There it is--the last hour of my life." "Stop, papa!" whispered Foma.
"Why stop?
We'll have our tea, and then send for the priest, and for Mayakin." "I'd rather send for them now." "They'll soon toll for the mass--the priest isn't home--and then there's no hurry, it may pass soon." And he noisily started to sip the tea out of the saucer.
"I should live another year or two.

You are young, and I am very much afraid for you.