The friends overtook the funeral procession and joined it.  The coffin was borne along slowly so that before they reached the cemetery they were able three times to drop into a tavern and imbibe a little to the health of the departed.

In the cemetery came the service by the graveside.  The mother-in-law, the wife, and the sister-in-law in obedience to custom shed many tears.  When the coffin was being lowered into the grave the wife even shrieked “Let me go with him!” but did not follow her husband into the grave probably recollecting her pension.  Waiting till everything was quiet again Zapoikin stepped forward, turned his eyes on all present, and began: 

“Can I believe my eyes and ears?  Is it not a terrible dream this grave, these tear-stained faces, these moans and lamentations?  Alas, it is not a dream and our eyes do not deceive us!  He whom we have only so lately seen, so full of courage, so youthfully fresh and pure, who so lately before our eyes like an unwearying bee bore his honey to the common hive of the welfare of the state, he who . . . he is turned now to dust, to inanimate mirage.  Inexorable death has laid his bony hand upon him at the time when, in spite of his bowed age, he was still full of the bloom of strength and radiant hopes.  An irremediable loss!  Who will fill his place for us?  Good government servants we have many, but Prokofy Osipitch was unique.  To the depths of his soul he was devoted to his honest duty; he did not spare his strength but worked late at night, and was disinterested, impervious to bribes. . . .  How he despised those who to the detriment of the public interest sought to corrupt him, who by the seductive goods of this life strove to draw him to betray his duty!  Yes, before our eyes Prokofy Osipitch would divide his small salary between his poorer colleagues, and you have just heard yourselves the lamentations of the widows and orphans who lived upon his alms.  Devoted to good works and his official duty, he gave up the joys of this life and even renounced the happiness of domestic existence; as you are aware, to the end of his days he was a bachelor.  And who will replace him as a comrade?  I can see now the kindly, shaven face turned to us with a gentle smile, I can hear now his soft friendly voice.  Peace to thine ashes, Prokofy Osipitch!  Rest, honest, noble toiler!”

Zapoikin continued while his listeners began whispering together.  His speech pleased everyone and drew some tears, but a good many things in it seemed strange.  In the first place they could not make out why the orator called the deceased Prokofy Osipitch when his name was Kirill Ivanovitch.  In the second, everyone knew that the deceased had spent his whole life quarelling with his lawful wife, and so consequently could not be called a bachelor; in the third, he had a thick red beard and had never been known to shave, and so no one could understand why the orator spoke of his shaven face.  The listeners were perplexed; they glanced at each other and shrugged their shoulders.