Until evening Foma walked about as though lost in mist, not noticing the respectful and beseeching glances with which the peasants greeted him at the receiver's instigation.

Dread fell on him, he felt himself guilty before somebody, and to all those that addressed him he replied humbly and gently, as though excusing himself for something.

Some of the working people went home toward evening, others gathered on the shore near a big, bright bonfire and began cooking their supper.

Fragments of their conversation floated about in the stillness of the evening.

The reflection of the fire fell on the river in red and yellow stripes, which trembled on the calm water and on the window panes of the cabin where Foma was sitting.