15. The Meeting of Friends

Two weeks after the interview of Tchetchevik with the great Ataman, on a beautiful tranquil evening, the old singer with his Antigone was slowly approaching a village which had been destroyed by fire.

Their journey was not a pleasure trip. It was evident that they had not allowed themselves to take necessary rest; their large eyes shone with a feverish fire, their faces were burned by the sun, their clothing was covered with dust, their lips were dry and their feet sore.

Nevertheless, they walked steadily and conversed calmly and cheerfully.

With the exception of several unexpected meetings with men who appeared on their path, no one knew how, and who scarcely exchanged a word, sometimes no more than a sign, with Tchetchevik, they had not usually met a living soul.

Everything was silent and deserted; they had often seen houses in ruins, wasted farms, gardens destroyed, and trunks of trees half burned, black on one side and green on the other, half dead, half living.

They had now before their eyes a village recently burned; a little smoke rising above each heap of cinders marked its location. At the end of a street they discovered the worn brink of a well.

“A little fresh water will do you good,” Tchetchevik said to Maroussia.

And he put his hand in a bag which hung on his shoulders, took out a little wooden cup, and, putting aside the plants which obstructed the opening of the well, filled the cup with clear, fresh water.

“Thank you,” answered Maroussia.

She moistened her lips with the limpid water, and having drunk it, approached the well. What did she see? What was there in the well which attracted her attention? She suddenly exclaimed:

“Ah!”

Her cheeks were covered with the most vivid color, her eyes lighted up and turned with joy toward her good friend.

She blushed again but this time her eyes dropped down and her face expressed sincere regret.

“Still another time, I have not been able to control myself,” said Maroussia. “I ought to have restrained this cry—”

“Bah!” said Tchetchevik, “the danger cannot be very great in this burned village. No one could hear you, my child. If you wish, we will have some supper.”

Their supper consisted of bread and water and a little salt.