"Well, admitting that," resumed Nasanski gently, with his tender, sorrowful eyes fixed on Romashov, "what does that signify? Time heals all wounds; everything in the world is buried and disappears, even the recollection of this scandal. You yourself will in time forget both your hatred and your sufferings; but you'll never forget a man you have killed. He will stand ever at your side, at the head of your bed, at your dinner-table, when you are alone, and when you are amidst the bustle of the world. Empty-heads, idiots, pretentious imitators and parrots will, of course, at all times solemnly assure you that a murder in the course of a _duel_ is no murder. What madmen! No, a murder is, and always will be, a murder. And the most horrible thing about it is not in death and suffering, in pools of blood or in corpses, but inasmuch as it deprives a human being of _the joys of life_. Oh, how priceless is life!" exclaimed Nasanski suddenly, in a high voice and with tears in his eyes. "Who do you suppose believes in the reality of an existence after this one? Not you, or I, or any other man of sound reason. Therefore death is feared by all. Only half-demented, ecstatic barbarians or 'the foolish in the Lord' allow themselves to be deluded into the notion that they will be greeted on the other side of the grave, in the garden of Paradise, by the beatific hymns of celestial eunuchs. Moreover, we have those who, silently despising such old wives' fables and puerilities, cross the threshold of death. Others again picture the empire of the grave as a cold, dark, bare room. No, my friend, there is no such future state. In death there is neither cold, nor darkness, nor space, nor even fear--nothing but absolute annihilation." Romashov shipped his oars, and it was only by observing the green shore gently stealing by that one could tell that the boat was moving onwards. "Yes--annihilation," Romashov repeated slowly, in a dreamy tone. "But why cudgel your brains over this? Gaze instead at the living landscape around you. How exquisite is life!" shouted Nasanski, with a powerful and eloquent gesture. "Oh, thou beauty of the Godhead--thou infinite beauty! Look at this blue sky, this calm and silent water, and you will tremble with joy and rapture. Look at yon water-mill far in the distance, softly moving its sails. Look at the fresh verdure of the bank and the mischievous play of the sunbeams on the water. How wonderfully lovely and peaceful is all this!" Nasanski suddenly buried his face in his hands and burst out weeping; but he recovered his self-possession immediately, and, without any shame for his tears, he went on to say, while looking at Romashov with moist, glistening eyes: