"
"What a wonderful fellow, isn't he?" she exclaimed. "Modest, proof
against doubt, he probably never yielded to sorrow. I have never
seen him without a joke on his lips; and what a worker! He is an
artist of the revolution, a great master, who skillfully manipulates
revolutionary thoughts. With what simplicity and power he always
draws his pictures of falsehood, violence and untruth! And what a
capacity he has for tempering the horrible with his gay humor which
does not diminish the force of facts but only the more brightly
illumines his inner thought! Always droll! I am greatly indebted
to him, and I shall never forget his merry eyes, his fun. And I
shall always feel the effect of his ideas upon me in the time of my
doubts--I love him!"
She spoke in a moderated voice, with a melancholy smile in her eyes.
But the incomprehensible fire of her gaze was not extinguished; her
exultation was apparent to everybody.
People love their own feelings--sometimes the very feelings that are
harmful to them--are enamored of them, and often derive keen pleasure
even from grief, a pleasure that corrodes the heart. Nikolay, the
mother, and Sofya were unwilling to let the sorrowful mood produced
by the death of their comrade give way to the joy brought in by Sasha.
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