CHAPTER XVIII.
Kirila Petrovitch was pacing up and down the hall, whistling his favourite air louder than usual. The whole house was in a commotion; the servants were running about, and the maids were busy. In the courtyard there was a crowd of people. In Maria Kirilovna’s dressing-room, before the looking-glass, a lady, surrounded by maidservants, was attiring the pale, motionless young bride. Her head bent languidly beneath the weight of her diamonds; she started slightly when a careless hand pricked her, but she remained silent, gazing absently into the mirror.
“Aren’t you nearly finished?” said the voice of Kirila Petrovitch at the door.
“In a minute!” replied the lady. “Maria Kirilovna, get up and look at yourself. Is everything right?”
Maria Kirilovna rose, but made no reply. The door was opened.
“The bride is ready,” said the lady to Kirila Petrovitch; “order the carriage.”
“With God!” replied Kirila Petrovitch, and taking a sacred image from the table, “Approach, Masha,” said he, in a voice of emotion; “I bless you....”
The poor girl fell at his feet and began to sob.
“Papa ... papa ...” she said through her tears, and then her voice failed her.
Kirila Petrovitch hastened to give her his blessing. She was raised up and almost carried into the carriage. Her godmother and one of the maidservants got in with her, and they drove off to the church. There the bridegroom was already waiting for them. He came forward to meet the bride, and was struck by her pallor and her strange look. They entered the cold deserted church together, and the door was locked behind them. The priest came out from the altar, and the ceremony at once began.