Yourii at last went back to bed, but the garish daylight prevented him from getting sleep, as he lay there with aching brow and jaded eyes.
CHAPTER XXXV.
Early that morning, soon after sunrise, Ivanoff and Sanine walked forth from the town. The dew sparkled in the sunlight, and the damp grass seen in shadow appeared grey. Along the side of the road flanked by gnarled willows, pilgrims were slowly wending their way to the monastery. The red and white kerchiefs covering their heads and their bright-hued coats and shirts gave colour and picturesqueness to the scene. The monastery bells rang out in the cool morning air, and the sound floated across the steppe, away to the dreaming woods in the dim blue distance. A troika came jingling along the highroad, and the rough voices of the pilgrims as they talked could be distinctly heard.
“We’ve come out a little too early,” said Ivanoff.
Sanine looked round about him, contented and happy.
“Well, let us wait a while,” he replied.
They sat down on the sand, close to the hedge, and lit their cigarettes.
Peasants walking along behind their carts turned to look at them, and market-women and girls as they rattled past in rickety traps pointed at the wayfarers amid bursts of merry, mocking laughter. Ivanoff took not the slightest notice of them, but Sanine smiled and nodded in response.
At last there appeared on the steps of a little white house with a bright green roof the proprietor of the “Crown” tavern, a tall man in his shirt-sleeves who noisily unlocked the door, while yawning incessantly. A woman wearing a red kerchief on her head slipped in after him.
“The very thing!” cried Ivanoff. “Let’s go there.”