The silence of the night pictures itself before him in the form of an endless expanse of perfectly calm, dark water, which has overflowed everything and congealed; there is not a ripple on it, not a shadow of a motion, and neither is there anything within it, although it is bottomlessly deep.
It is very terrible for one to look down from the dark at this dead water.

But now the sound of the night watchman's mallet is heard, and the boy sees that the surface of the water is beginning to tremble, and, covering the surface with ripples, light little balls are dancing upon it.

The sound of the bell on the steeple, with one mighty swing, brings all the water in agitation and it is slightly trembling from that sound; a big spot of light is also trembling, spreading light upon the water, radiating from its centre into the dark distance, there growing paler and dying out.

Again there is weary and deathlike repose in this dark desert.
"Auntie," whispers Foma, beseechingly.
"Dearest ?" "I am coming to you." "Come, then, come, my darling." Going over into auntie's bed, he presses close to her, begging: "Tell me something." "At night ?" protests auntie, sleepily.
"Please." He does not have to ask her long.

Yawning, her eyes closed, the old woman begins slowly in a voice grown heavy with sleep: "Well, my dear sir, in a certain kingdom, in a certain empire, there lived a man and his wife, and they were very poor.