This, to Ivanoff, as he tossed back his yellow hair, appeared to be the last word in explanation of the tragic occurrence. Personally, it soothed him much.
In the graveyard the scene was even more autumnal, where the trees seemed splashed with dull red gold, while here and there the grass showed green through the heaps of withered leaves. The tombstones and crosses looked whiter in this dull setting.
So the black earth received Yourii.
Just at that awful moment when the coffin disappeared from view and the earth became a barrier for ever between the quick and the dead, Sina uttered a piercing shriek. Her sobs echoed through the quiet burial- ground, painfully affecting the little group of silent mourners. She no longer cared to hide her secret from the others who now all guessed it, horrified that death should have separated this handsome young woman from her lover to whom she had longed to give all her youth and beauty, and who now lay dead in the grave.
They led her away, and the sound of her weeping gradually subsided. The grave was hastily filled in, a mound of earth being raised above it on which little green fir-trees were planted.
Schafroff grew restless.
“I say, somebody ought to make a speech. Gentlemen, this won’t do! There ought to be a speech,” he said, hurriedly accosting the bystanders in turn.
“Ask Sanine,” was Ivanoff’s malicious suggestion. Schafroff stared at the speaker in amazement, whose face wore an inscrutable expression.
“Sanine? Sanine? Where’s Sanine?” he exclaimed. “Ah! Vladimir Petrovitch, will you say a few words? We can’t go away without a speech.”
“Make one yourself, then,” replied Sanine morosely. He was listening to Sina, sobbing in the distance.