But he could not say a word more, for the pain in his heart had gripped his throat as if in a vice of iron, and rose to his eyes as two bitter, burning tears, which flowed down his cheeks. The priest understood him then perfectly.
"My Yatsek," advised he, "better burn out the wound, even with awful pain than let it fester. For this reason I do not spare thee. I, in my time, was a soldier of this world, and understand many things. I know that regret and remembrance, no matter how far a man travels, drag like dogs after him, and howl in the night-time. They give him no chance to sleep because of this howling. What must he do then? Kill those dogs straightway. Thou at this moment feelest that thou wouldst have given all thy blood over there; for which reason it seems to thee so marvellous and terrible that from that side alone vengeance pursues thee. The thing seems to thee impossible; but it is possible--for if thou hast wounded the pride and self-love of a woman, if she thought that thou wouldst whine and thou hast not whined when she beat thee, and thou didst not fawn in her presence, but hast tugged at thy chain and hast broken it, know that she will never and never forgive thee, and her hatred, more raging than that of any man living, will always pursue thee. Against this there is only one refuge: crush the love, even on thy own heart, and hurl it, like a broken bow, far from thee--that is thy one refuge!"
Again there was a moment of silence. Pan Serafin nodded, confirming the priest, and, as a man of experience, he admired all the wisdom of his statement.
"It is true," added Yatsek, "that I have tugged at the chain, and have broken it. So it is not Pan Gideon who pursues me!"
"I know what I should do," said Lukash, on a sudden.
"Tell, do not hide!" cried the other two.
"Do ye know what the hare said?"
"What hare? Art thou drunk?"
"Why that hare at the boundary ridge."
And, evidently encouraged, he stood up, put his hand on his hip and began to sing: