"
They exchanged glances, as if the word "comrade" had given them a
mild shock. The dull cough of the sick man was heard. The embers
of the burning woodpile died out.
"Good-by," the peasants said in subdued tones; and the sad word rang
in the women's ears a long time.
They walked without haste, in the twilight of the dawn, along the
wood path. The mother striding behind Sofya said:
"All this is good, just as in a dream--so good! People want to know
the truth, my dear; yes, they want to know the truth. It's like
being in a church on the morning of a great holiday, when the priest
has not yet arrived, and it's dark and quiet; then it's raw, and the
people are already gathering. Here the candles are lighted before
the images, and there the lamps are lighted; and little by little,
they drive away the darkness, illumining the House of God."
"True," answered Sofya. "Only here the House of God is the whole earth."
"The whole earth," the mother repeated, shaking her head thoughtfully.
"It's so good that it's hard to believe."
They walked and talked about Rybin, about the sick man, about the
young peasants who were so attentively silent, and who so awkwardly
but eloquently expressed a feeling of grateful friendship by little
attentions to the women.
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