The children from Trirodov’s colony decided to come. They brought two wreaths with them. The quiet children came also. They kept by themselves and were silent.
The entire town police were present at the funeral. Even police from outlying districts were here. As always, petty provocateurs lurked among the crowd.
The crowd moved calmly and solemnly. Above it the wreaths swung, the red flowers glimmered vividly, the red ribbons fluttered. The Cossacks rode alongside. There was austerity and suspicion in their looks—they were prepared to suppress any demonstration. The chanting of a prayer could be heard. Each time the subsided chant was renewed, the Cossacks listened with great intentness. No—it was only the prayer again.
Elisaveta and Trirodov walked with the crowd behind the coffin. They spoke of that which enraptures those who seek rapture and frightens those who seek repose. Poignant were Elisaveta’s impressions as she stepped upon the sharp cobblestones of the dusty, littered pavement.
The road was long. The austere harmony was kept up for some time. At last the cemetery was reached. Some dejected moments were passed in waiting by the church. The last services were pronounced hurriedly.
The Cossacks moved about in bustling fashion, and as before formed a circle around the throng.
The coffin was carried out of the church. The wreaths swung once more above the crowd, which moved on chanting.
Suddenly the women’s lament grew louder—the women’s lament above the grave. The instructor Bodeyev then stood at the head of the coffin. He began in his shrilly-thin, but far-carrying voice:
“Comrades, we have gathered to-day at the grave of our brother....”
The colonel of the gendarmes went up to him, and said sternly: