'Well, did she see anyone?' asked Kostya inquisitively.
'To be sure she did. At first she sat a long, long while, and saw no one and heard nothing … only it seemed as if some dog kept whining and whining like this somewhere…. Suddenly she looks up: a boy comes along the road with only a shirt on. She looked at him. It was Ivashka Fedosyev.'
'He who died in the spring?' put in Fedya.
'Yes, he. He came along and never lifted up his head. But Ulyana knew him. And then she looks again: a woman came along. She stared and stared at her…. Ah, God Almighty! … it was herself coming along the road; Ulyana herself.'
'Could it be herself?' asked Fedya.
'Yes, by God, herself.'
'Well, but she is not dead yet, you know?' 'But the year is not over yet. And only look at her; her life hangs on a thread.'
All were still again. Pavel threw a handful of dry twigs on to the fire. They were soon charred by the suddenly leaping flame; they cracked and smoked, and began to contract, curling up their burning ends. Gleams of light in broken flashes glanced in all directions, especially upwards. Suddenly a white dove flew straight into the bright light, fluttered round and round in terror, bathed in the red glow, and disappeared with a whirr of its wings.
'It's lost its home, I suppose,' remarked Pavel. 'Now it will fly till it gets somewhere, where it can rest till dawn.'
'Why, Pavlusha,' said Kostya, 'might it not be a just soul flying to heaven?'