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Updated: May 17, 2025
Kirsha's mother passed by all white, all lovely, all gentle. She turned her tranquil eyes upon her dear ones and whispered: "I will come." Kirsha, transported with a quiet joy, stood motionless. His eyes gleamed like the eyes of the quiet angel who stood there on guard. Again the dead throng moved on. A governor passed by. All his figure breathed might and majesty.
Kirsha turned to his father and, growing pale, said quietly: "Father, a visitor has come to you from quite afar. How strange that he has come in a simple carriage and in ordinary clothes! I wonder why he has come?" They could hear the crunching sound of the sand under the iron hoops of the wheels of the calash which had just entered the gates. Kirsha's face wore a gloomy expression.
Trirodov laid his hand silently on the boy's head. Kirsha said: "There is a boy in one of the graves who is not dead." "How do you know?" asked Trirodov. But he knew what Kirsha's answer would be. Kirsha said: "Grisha told me that Egorka was not quite dead. He is asleep; but he will awake!" "Yes," said Trirodov. "And will he come to you?" asked Kirsha. "Yes," was the answer.
Trirodov said sternly: "I do not wish to take you with me you ought to remain here." There was entreaty in Kirsha's voice: "Perhaps mother will come by." Trirodov, falling into deep thought, said finally: "Very well, come with me." The evening dragged on slowly and sadly. The father and son waited. It grew quite dark by the time they went.
She seems in every way phlegmatic, yet she tries to appear animated. Her words come rather easily sometimes, and she exaggerates." It was quiet in the garden behind the stone wall. This was Kirsha's free hour. But he could not play, though he tried to. Little Kirsha, Trirodov's son, whose mother had died not long before, was dark and thin. He had a very mobile face and restless dark eyes.
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