Another, at the same moment, evidently not by
accident, struck a light, and touched it to her; . . . the flame flashed
up; poor aunt, in terror, flung her robe from her, before them all. . . .
Screams, laughter, jest, arose, as if at a fair. In a word, the old
folks could not recall so merry a wedding.
Pidorka and Petrus began to live like a gentleman and lady. There was
plenty of everything, and everything was handsome. . . . But honest people
shook their heads when they looked at their way of living. "From the
Devil no good can come," they unanimously agreed. "Whence, except from
the tempter of orthodox people, came this wealth? Where else could he
get such a lot of gold? Why, on the very day that he got rich, did
Basavriuk vanish as if into thin air?" Say, if you can, that people
imagine things! In fact, a month had not passed, and no one would have
recognized Petrus. Why, what had happened to him? God knows. He sits in
one spot, and says no word to any one: he thinks continually, and seems
to be trying to recall something. When Pidorka succeeds in getting him to
speak, he seems to forget himself, carries on a conversation, and even
grows cheerful; but if he inadvertently glances at the sacks, "Stop,
stop! I have forgotten," he cries, and again plunges into reverie, and
again strives to recall something.
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