On the way back to my aunt's I learned that we were not to go home yet, father having decided to stay for the week of repentance, a religious custom observed by orthodox Russians. "You are now old enough to take your first sacrament after confession," he said to me. When I went next to the big church, with its onion-shaped dome, I felt quite nervous thinking of all the faults and sins that I would have to confess for the first time in my life. The service was a very solemn one. Every once in a while one of the black-robed priests came out from behind the sacred gates on the altar and read the prayer: "Lord and Protector of my life, Keep me from idleness, Keep me from disappointment, Keep me from false ambition, Keep me from idle chattering. Give me chastity, Give me humility and love, Me, Thy servant. O Heavenly Czar, open my eyes to my sins; Let me not judge my neighbors, Let me reverence Thee always." Not until the end of the service did the choir sing something very sweet in a minor key. Child though I was, I left the church with a sense of the vanity of earthly things. I was ready to repent. I particularly remembered a day when I had taken a stick and hit my dog, poor dear Manjur. This, I told myself, I must confess, and also how often I had teased my baby sister. On the night of confession, when, after a very long wait, my turn came, I found myself before a priest whose long beard made his face remind me of pictures of prophets that I had seen. It was very late, and he looked tired, but his eyes shone with sympathy as he listened to my brief recital. I was so overcome with weariness[21] when I reached home that I threw myself, supperless and partly dressed, on my bed and at once fell asleep. I awoke very hungry next morning and after washing, hurried to the table where breakfast usually awaited me. The table was empty and all the people in the room were dressed in their Sunday clothes. "Get ready quickly," said my father, "to come with us to church." "But can't I have some bread and tea first?" I asked. "No, indeed," said my father sternly. "You must not drink even a drop of water between confession and the taking of the sacrament." "A drop of water!" I repeated in confusion. For it had happened that I had swallowed a drop when washing that morning. This troubled me until later the priest assured me that that did not count, since it had been involuntary. I went to church with my stomach groaning for food. This, and the incense-laden air, caused me to feel faint until at last with many others, I received my share of the consecrated bread and wine.