with tender anxiety:

"What does this mean, Musyechka? Is it possible that he---- What? I must
go to him."

Vasily looked at Werner from the distance, as though not recognizing
him, and he lowered his eyes.

"Vasya, what have you done with your hair? What is the matter with you?
Never mind, my dear, never mind, it will soon be over. We must keep up,
we must, we must."

Vasily was silent. But when it seemed that he would no longer say
anything, a dull, belated, terribly remote answer came--like an answer
from the grave:

"I'm all right. I hold my own."

Then he repeated:

"I hold my own."

Werner was delighted.

"That's the way, that's the way. Good boy. That's the way."

But his eyes met Vasily's dark, wearied glance fixed upon him from the
distance and he thought with instant sorrow: "From where is he looking?
From where is he speaking?" and with profound tenderness, with which
people address a grave, he said:

"Vasya, do you hear? I love you very much."

"So do I love you very much," answered the tongue, moving with
difficulty.

Suddenly Musya took Werner by the hand and with an expression of
surprise, she said like an actress on the stage, with measured emphasis:

"Werner, what is this? You said, 'I love'? You never before said 'I
love' to anybody. And why are you all so--tender and serene? Why?"

"Why?"

And like an actor, also accentuating what he felt, Werner pressed
Musya's hand firmly:

"Yes, now I love very much. Don't tell it to the others,--it isn't
necessary, I feel somewhat ashamed, but I love deeply."

Their eyes met and flashed up brightly, and everything about them seemed
to have plunged in darkness. It is thus that in the flash of lightning
all other lights are instantly darkened and the heavy yellow flame casts
a shadow upon earth.

"Yes," said Musya, "yes, Werner."

"Yes," he answered, "yes, Musya, yes."

They understood each other and something was firmly settled between them
at this moment. And his eyes glistening, Werner again became agitated
and quickly stepped over to Sergey.

"Seryozha!"

But Tanya Kovalchuk answered. Almost crying with maternal pride, she
tugged Sergey frantically by the sleeve.

"Listen, Werner! I am crying here for him, I am wearing myself to death,
and he is occupying himself with gymnastics!"

"According to the Mueller system?" smiled Werner.

Sergey knit his brow confusedly.

"You needn't laugh, Werner. I have convinced myself conclusi