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.
This somewhat revived me, and I looked around with more interest at the people near by. There were several persons of note in the church, some in government uniforms with numerous medals on their breasts. Mongalov and his Cossack officers were among these, dressed in entirely new uniforms, but without fire-arms or ammunition, even their swords being detached and kept for them by outsiders until they had partaken of the sacrament.
When we came back to my aunt's I found many preparations already made for the Easter festival. The big dining-table had been much enlarged. It was covered with a white cloth and decorated with flowers and greens. On it were all kinds of attractive food. I was most impressed by what the Russians call pashka. It was in the shape of a pyramid and had been made by my aunt from cottage cheese, mixed with cream, sugar, and raisins. On it were figures of the Cross.