"I did not say anything to him, but the peasants came up and laughed at him: 'Mikhyéev will not get rid of his sin of ploughing during Easter week even if he should pray all his life.'"
"What did he say to that?"
"All he said was: 'Peace on earth and good-will to men.' He took his plough, started his horses, and sang out in a thin voice, but the candle kept burning and did not go out."
The clerk stopped laughing. He put down the guitar, lowered his head, and fell to musing.
He sat awhile; then he sent away the cook and the elder, went behind the curtain, lay down on the bed, and began to sigh and to sob, just as though a cart were driving past with sheaves. His wife came and began to speak to him; he gave her no answer. All he said was:
"He has vanquished me. My turn has come."
His wife tried to calm him.
"Go and send them home! Maybe it will be all right. See what deeds you have done, and now you lose your courage."
"I am lost," he said. "He has vanquished me."