"If it is only an imaginary line, how can the moon cross it?" Varenka
says, wondering.

I make no reply. I feel my spleen rising at this naïve question.

"It's all nonsense," says Mashenka's _maman_. "Impossible to tell
what's going to happen. You've never been in the sky, so what can
you know of what is to happen with the sun and moon? It's all fancy."

At that moment a black patch begins to move over the sun. General
confusion follows. The sheep and horses and cows run bellowing about
the fields with their tails in the air. The dogs howl. The bugs,
thinking night has come on, creep out of the cracks in the walls
and bite the people who are still in bed.

The deacon, who was engaged in bringing some cucumbers from the
market garden, jumped out of his cart and hid under the bridge;
while his horse walked off into somebody else's yard, where the
pigs ate up all the cucumbers. The excise officer, who had not slept
at home that night, but at a lady friend's, dashed out with nothing
on but his nightshirt, and running into the crowd shouted frantically:
"Save yourself, if you can!"

Numbers of the lady visitors, even young and pretty ones, run out
of their villas without even putting their slippers on. Scenes occur
which I hesitate to describe.

"Oh, how dreadful!" shriek the variegated young ladies. "It's really
too awful!"