they know the joys of love, which destroy the equilibrium. The sick
beast plunges into the thicket and expires there alone: he seems to
feel that he no longer has the right to look upon the sun that is
common to all, nor to breathe the open air; he has not the right to
live;--and the man who from his own fault or from the fault of others
is faring ill in the world--ought, at least, to know how to keep
silence.

'Well, Yegor!' cried Kondrat all at once. He had already settled
himself on the box of the cart and was shaking and playing with the
reins. 'Come, sit down. What are you so thoughtful about? Still about
the cow?'

'About the cow? What cow?' I repeated, and looked at Yegor: calm and
stately as ever, he certainly did seem thoughtful, and was gazing away
into the distance towards the fields already beginning to get dark.

'Don't you know?' answered Kondrat; 'his last cow died last night. He
has no luck.--What are you going to do?'....

Yegor sat down on the box, without speaking, and we drove off. 'That
man knows how to bear in silence,' I thought.




YAKOV PASINKOV

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