an oak copse bathed in sunshine--looked as happy and rapturous
as though the May morning owed its charm only to them. The reflection
of the sun in the rapidly flowing Donets quivered and raced away
in all directions, and its long rays played on the chasubles, on
the banners and on the drops splashed up by the oars. The singing
of the Easter hymns, the ringing of the bells, the splash of the
oars in the water, the calls of the birds, all mingled in the air
into something tender and harmonious. The boat with the priests and
the banners led the way; at its helm the black figure of a lay
brother stood motionless as a statue.

When the procession was getting near the Monastery, I noticed
Alexandr Ivanitch among the elect. He was standing in front of them
all, and, his mouth wide open with pleasure and his right eyebrow
cocked up, was gazing at the procession. His face was beaming;
probably at such moments, when there were so many people round him
and it was so bright, he was satisfied with himself, his new religion,
and his conscience.

When a little later we were sitting in our room, drinking tea, he
still beamed with satisfaction; his face showed that he was satisfied
both with the tea and with me, that he fully appreciated my being
an intellectual, but that he would know how to play his part with
credit if any intellectual topic turned up. . . .

"Tell me, what psychology ought I to read?" he began an intellectual
conversation, wrinkling up his nose.

"Why, what do you want it for?"