The sun glistened on the glasses of the old lady's spectacles and on their silver rims.
Contrary to Semka's supposition, she did not "give it him." We could not hear for the rustle of the foliage what Mishka was saying to her, but we presently saw him heavily sitting down at her feet, so that his nose almost touched the open book. His face was dignified and calm; we saw him blow on his beard, to try and get the dust off it, fidget, and at last settle down in an uncomfortable position, with his neck stretched out, expectantly watching the old lady's little shrivelled hands as they methodically turned over the leaves of the book.
"Look at him, the hairy dog! Got a fine rest for himself. Let's go too! He'll be taking it easy there, and we've got to do his work for him. Come on!"
In two or three minutes Semka and I were also sitting on the ground, one on each side of our comrade. The old lady did not say a word to us when we appeared, only looked at us attentively and sharply, and again began to turn over the leaves of the book, searching for something. We sat in a luxuriant green ring of fresh, sweet-smelling foliage, and above us was spread the kindly, soft, cloudless sky. Now and then came a light breeze, and the leaves began to rustle with that mysterious sound which always speaks to the heart, waking in it gentleness and peace, and turning the thoughts to something indefinite, yet dear to man, cleansing his soul from foulness, or, at any rate, making him forget it for a time and breathe freely, and, as it were, anew.
"'Paul, a servant of Jesus Christ,'" began the old lady's voice. Shaking and cracked from age, it was yet full of a stern and pompous piety. At its first sound Mishka energetically crossed himself.
Semka began fidgeting on the ground, trying to find a more comfortable position. The old lady cast a glance at him, but continued to read.
"'For I long to see you, that I may impart unto you some spiritual gift, to the end ye may be established—that is, that I with you may be comforted in you, each of us by the other's faith, both yours and mine.'"
Semka, like the true heathen he was, gave a loud yawn. His comrade cast a reproachful glance at him from his blue eyes and hung his touzled head, all covered with dust. The old lady also looked at him severely without leaving off reading, and this somewhat abashed him. He wrinkled up his nose, looked sideways, and, evidently wishing to atone for his yawn, gave a long, pious sigh.
Several minutes passed quietly. The improving and monotonous reading acted as a sedative.
"'For the wrath of God is revealed against all ungodliness and'"—