She looked distracted. It seemed to me even
that her eyes were red from recent weeping. The classic severity of
every line of her face imparted a peculiar significance and solemnity
to her beauty. But through that severity and solemnity, through the
sadness, shone the innocence of a child. There was something
inexpressibly naive, unsettled and young in her features, which,
without words, seemed to plead for mercy.
They said she was just sixteen years old. I looked at the bridegroom
carefully. Suddenly I recognised Julian Mastakovich, whom I had not
seen again in all those five years. Then I looked at the bride
again.--Good God! I made my way, as quickly as I could, out of the
church. I heard gossiping in the crowd about the bride's wealth--about
her dowry of five hundred thousand rubles--so and so much for pocket
money.
"Then his calculations were correct," I thought, as I pressed out into
the street.
GOD SEES THE TRUTH, BUT WAITS
BY LEO N. TOLSTOY
In the town of Vladimir lived a young merchant named Ivan Dmitrich
Aksionov. He had two shops and a house of his own.
Aksionov was a handsome, fair-haired, curly-headed fellow, full of
fun, and very fond of singing.
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