But after a short silence they glanced at each other, smiled and immediately began to feel at ease and unrestrained, as before. No change seemed to have occurred, and if it had occurred, it had come so gently over all of them that it could not be discerned in any one separately. All spoke and moved about strangely: abruptly, by jolts, either too fast or too slowly. Sometimes they seemed to choke with their words and repeated them a number of times; sometimes they did not finish a phrase they had started, or thought they had finished—they did not notice it. They all blinked their eyes and examined ordinary objects curiously, not recognizing them, like people who had worn eye-glasses and had suddenly taken them off; and all of them frequently turned around abruptly, as though some one behind them was calling them all the time and showing them something. But they did not notice this, either. Musya’s and Tanya Kovalchuk’s cheeks and ears were burning; Sergey was at first somewhat pale, but he soon recovered and looked as he always did. Only Vasily attracted everybody’s attention. Even among them, he looked strange and terrible. Werner became agitated and said to Musya in a low voice, with tender anxiety: “What does this mean, Musyechka? Is it possible that he—— What? I must go to him.” Vasily looked at Werner from the distance, as though not recognizing him, and he lowered his eyes. “Vasya, what have you done with your hair? What is the matter with you? Never mind, my dear, never mind, it will soon be over. We must keep up, we must, we must.” Vasily was silent. But when it seemed that he would no longer say anything, a dull, belated, terribly remote answer came—like an answer from the grave: “I’m all right. I hold my own.” Then he repeated: “I hold my own.” Werner was delighted. “That’s the way, that’s the way. Good boy. That’s the way.” But his eyes met Vasily’s dark, wearied glance fixed upon him from the distance and he thought with instant sorrow: “From where is he looking? From where is he speaking?” and with profound tenderness, with which people address a grave, he said: “Vasya, do you hear? I love you very much.” “So do I love you very much,” answered the tongue, moving with difficulty. Suddenly Musya took Werner by the hand and with an expression of surprise, she said like an actress on the stage, with measured emphasis: “Werner, what is this? You said, ‘I love’? You never before said ‘I love’ to anybody. And why are you all so—tender and serene? Why?” “Why?” And like an actor, also accentuating what he felt, Werner pressed Musya’s hand firmly: “Yes, now I love very much. Don’t tell it to the others,—it isn’t necessary, I feel somewhat ashamed, but I love deeply.” Their eyes met and flashed up brightly, and everything about them seemed to have plunged in darkness. It is thus that in the flash of lightning all other lights are instantly darkened and the heavy yellow flame casts a shadow upon earth.