Anania was not listening. He saw a figure moving slowly at the bottom of the street. His heart came into his mouth. It was she! The old messenger dove, it was she, carrying on her pure lips, like a flower of life or of death, the fateful word.
Anania went in to the house shutting the back door; Aunt Tatàna entered at the front and he shut that door also. She sighed; was still pale and oppressed just as Anania had seen her in fancy. Her rude jewels, her belt, her embroideries, sparkled brightly in the firelight.
Anania ran to meet her. He looked at her anxiously. As she kept silence he burst out impatiently—
"Well? Well? What did he say?"
"Have patience, child of the Lord! I am going to tell you."
"Tell me now—this moment. Will he have me?"
"Yes—s—s—He'll have you! He'll have you!" announced the old lady opening her arms.
Quite overcome, Anania sat down, his head in his hands. Aunt Tatàna looked at him compassionately, shaking her head, while with trembling finger she unclasped her silver belt.
"Is it possible! Is it really possible?" Anania was saying to himself.
Before the oven the kitten was still watching for the exit of a mouse. Perhaps he heard some faint noise for his tail trembled. After a minute Anania heard a squeak and a minute death cry. But his happiness was now so complete that it did not allow him to remember that in the world could exist such a thing as suffering.