“It’s all over!” thought Laevsky.
The barrel of the pistol aimed straight at his face, the expression of hatred and contempt in Von Koren’s attitude and whole figure, and the murder just about to be committed by a decent man in broad daylight, in the presence of decent men, and the stillness and the unknown force that compelled Laevsky to stand still and not to run —how mysterious it all was, how incomprehensible and terrible!
The moment while Von Koren was taking aim seemed to Laevsky longer than a night: he glanced imploringly at the seconds; they were pale and did not stir.
“Make haste and fire,” thought Laevsky, and felt that his pale, quivering, and pitiful face must arouse even greater hatred in Von Koren.
“I’ll kill him directly,” thought Von Koren, aiming at his forehead, with his finger already on the catch. “Yes, of course I’ll kill him.”
“He’ll kill him!” A despairing shout was suddenly heard somewhere very close at hand.
A shot rang out at once. Seeing that Laevsky remained standing where he was and did not fall, they all looked in the direction from which the shout had come, and saw the deacon. With pale face and wet hair sticking to his forehead and his cheeks, wet through and muddy, he was standing in the maize on the further bank, smiling rather queerly and waving his wet hat. Sheshkovsky laughed with joy, burst into tears, and moved away. . . .
XX
A little while afterwards, Von Koren and the deacon met near the little bridge. The deacon was excited; he breathed hard, and avoided looking in people’s faces. He felt ashamed both of his terror and his muddy, wet garments.
“I thought you meant to kill him . . .” he muttered. “How contrary to human nature it is! How utterly unnatural it is!”