20. Last Wreaths

Maroussia was the first to overcome her emotion, and, trying to free Tchetchevik’s face from his hands, which still hid it from her sight, she fixed her tearful eyes on him, and in a tone of voice which scarcely trembled, said with a smile:

“See, I am no longer sad.”

Not receiving any answer, she rested her cheek on his shoulder and caressed him timidly. Tchetchevik lifted up his head, and looking at his little companion, said:

“But you are suffering beyond your strength, poor child.”

“And you also, you suffer beyond your strength, and everybody does the same! All the country—”

“Oh, yes! All the country—”

“Who does not suffer?” said Maroussia, “only the birds, the happy birds, to whom it matters little, go from one branch to another, or rest upon this rather than upon that one.

But recall to yourself what you said so well to everybody not long ago, which was heard from one hill to another above the plains: ‘Forward! ’ And with what a voice you urged them all! How you led them into battle! The whole people followed you. Maroussia alone follows you now; but just the same give her your command, ‘Forward!’ and she will be ready to march.”

The child had arisen.

At these words, Tchetchevik did the same, they took each other by the hand and started on their journey. Having gone a short distance, they saw a village. A narrow road covered with grass led to it.

“Do you see this village, Maroussia?” her good friend said to her.

“Yes, I see it,” she answered.

“It is large, is it not?”

“Yes, it seems large to me.”

“Well, then, the larger a village is in our unhappy Ukraine, the more wives, mothers, sisters, and children who weep, for by this little road and others like it, their husbands, sons, and brothers have gone to battle, and no one can tell how many will come back again. These times are hard beyond all others, Maroussia, do you understand?”

“Yes, indeed, I understand!” she exclaimed.

They walked again a long time, but in silence.