I was not sufficiently humble.
"Well, Matvei, you suffer?" the priest asked.
"Yes," I answered.
"Ah, then you must say the Forty-Day prayers. Does she appear in dreams to you?"
"Yes."
"Then only the Forty-Day prayer will help you. That is certain."
I remained silent. I could not speak before the wife of the priest. I did not like her. She was a large, stout, short-winded woman, with a broad, fat face. She lent money on interest.
"Pray earnestly," the priest said to me. "And do not eat your heart. It is a sin against the Lord. He knows what He does."
"Does He really know?" I asked.
"Certainly. Oh, oh, my young man, I know well that you are proud toward people, but do not dare to carry your pride against the laws of God. You will be punished a hundredfold more severely. This sour stuff which ferments in you comes from the time of Larion, does it not? I know the heresies which he committed when he was drunk—remember this!"