The high vaults of the church were dark and mysterious. The evening
chants rose toward these vaults and resounded there with an exultant
sadness. The dark images, lit up by the yellow flickers of wax candles,
looked stern and mysterious. The warm breathing of the wax and of the
incense filled the air with lofty sorrow.
Eugenia Stepanovna placed a candle before the ikon of the Mother of
God. Then she knelt down. But her prayer was distraught.
She looked at her candle. Its flame wavered. The shadows from the
candles fell on Eugenia Stepanovna’s black dress and on the floor, and
rocked unsteadily. The shadows hovered on the walls of the church and
lost themselves in the heights between the dark vaults, where the
exultant, sad songs resounded.