17. At Gadiatch

And he added in a sententious voice:

“The proud man is like a soap-bubble, he only inflates himself to burst.”

“But what are you saying there, old man?” cried an old woman with a respectable face and eyes blazing with indignation. “What are you saying there? You are speaking of the honor of our city and country. Méphodiévna is a beneficent light, a lamp in our darkness.”

“To be so brilliant,” continued the obstinate singer, “she must appear sparkling with diamonds and covered with gold and precious stones.”

“You are not right there!” someone cried from the crowd. “She is so simply dressed, that but for her eyes like black diamonds, you would take her for someone else.”

“She dresses like a common person,” said a young Cossack; “she doesn’t act the grand lady, and she is always where she can do good without being seen.”

“Pardon me!” said the singer. “I have, I see, blasphemed your saint, but she has not lost anything by it. I have, at least, given you the opportunity of rendering her homage. Can you tell me, young man, who are these fine lords, richly dressed, who are to be seen everywhere in the city? Are they saints also?”

“Saints? Ah, no indeed! They are their highnesses, the Russian princes. Cannot you guess it by their important manners, their eyes half-shut, and their scornful noses, higher than their heads? They are the guests of our Ataman. A week ago, his house was full of them, the friends of Ukraine were anxious about it. But, thanks to God and to the influence of Méphodiévna over her sister and over the Ataman, many of them, it is said, have already departed.”

Departed? Wherefore? What annoyed them, these magnificent gentlemen.”

“Ah, ha! Ask Méphodiévna; perhaps she thought the time was not well chosen, when one-half of Ukraine is invaded by Russian troops, to entertain so many fine gentlemen. It diverts our Ataman too much.”

“To tell the truth,” said a new speaker, “they have not had so much amusement at the palace for a week past. The Ataman does not entertain his guests cordially. He seems annoyed with them, and, so it is said, there will soon be none of them left in the country.” Maroussia gently pressed the hand of her good friend. Doubtless his hand responded to the pressure, for the child’s face shone. Suddenly there was a great silence. They could just see Father Mikail coming down the street toward the door of the church. Those who were seated arose. Those who were standing stood up on tip-toe.

Father Mikail in his whole person presented the ideal type of the good priest. His people adored their pastor. There was a strife as to who should be first in his way to receive his benediction.