But these foolish words could neither console me nor make me right. They only awoke in my soul an evil obstinacy. My house burned down more quickly than my wrath. For a long time I stood on the edge of the wood, leaning against the trunk of a tree and haggled with God, while Olga's white face, bathed in tears and drawn with pain, rose up before my eyes. And I spoke to God boldly, as to one familiar:
"Thou art strong. So will I be also. Thus it should be for justice' sake."
The fire was quenched and all became quiet and dark. Only a few flames thrust their tongues out into the night, like the sobs of a child after it has stopped crying.
The night was cloudy and the river shone like a flaming sword which some one had lost in the field. I could have clutched at this sword and swung it high in the air to hear it ring over the earth.
Toward midnight I reached the village. At the door of the house were Olga and her father. They awaited me.
"Where were you?" Titoff asked.
"I stood on the hill and watched the fire."
"Why didn't you come to put it out?"
"Can I perform miracles? Would the fire have gone out if I had spat on it?"
Olga's eyes were swollen with tears and she was black with smoke and soot. I laughed when I saw her.