The churchwarden made an attempt at a smile.
“Just so. Nothing important. I wanted to have a talk with you, Father.”
“Was it you—last night?”
“Yes, and the night before, too. Pardon me, I had no intention....”
He heaved a deep sigh and once more oblivious of niceties, he openly blurted out trembling with fear:
“I am scared. I have never been scared before in my life. And now I am scared. I am scared.”
“Of what?” asked the priest in amazement.
Ivan Porfyritch looked over the priest’s shoulder as though someone, silent and dreadful, were hiding behind him, and continued:
“Death.”
They were regarding one another in silence.