When he got out of town, he began to see both the road and his stick.  Here and there in the black sky there were dark cloudy patches, and soon a star peeped out and timidly blinked its one eye.  The deacon walked along the high rocky coast and did not see the sea; it was slumbering below, and its unseen waves broke languidly and heavily on the shore, as though sighing “Ouf!” and how slowly!  One wave broke—­the deacon had time to count eight steps; then another broke, and six steps; later a third.  As before, nothing could be seen, and in the darkness one could hear the languid, drowsy drone of the sea.  One could hear the infinitely faraway, inconceivable time when God moved above chaos.

The deacon felt uncanny.  He hoped God would not punish him for keeping company with infidels, and even going to look at their duels.  The duel would be nonsensical, bloodless, absurd, but however that might be, it was a heathen spectacle, and it was altogether unseemly for an ecclesiastical person to be present at it.  He stopped and wondered—­should he go back?  But an intense, restless curiosity triumphed over his doubts, and he went on.

“Though they are infidels they are good people, and will be saved,” he assured himself.  “They are sure to be saved,” he said aloud, lighting a cigarette.

By what standard must one measure men’s qualities, to judge rightly of them?  The deacon remembered his enemy, the inspector of the clerical school, who believed in God, lived in chastity, and did not fight duels; but he used to feed the deacon on bread with sand in it, and on one occasion almost pulled off the deacon’s ear.  If human life was so artlessly constructed that every one respected this cruel and dishonest inspector who stole the Government flour, and his health and salvation were prayed for in the schools, was it just to shun such men as Von Koren and Laevsky, simply because they were unbelievers?  The deacon was weighing this question, but he recalled how absurd Samoylenko had looked yesterday, and that broke the thread of his ideas.  What fun they would have next day!  The deacon imagined how he would sit under a bush and look on, and when Von Koren began boasting next day at dinner, he, the deacon, would begin laughing and telling him all the details of the duel.

“How do you know all about it?” the zoologist would ask.

“Well, there you are!  I stayed at home, but I know all about it.”

It would be nice to write a comic description of the duel.  His father-in-law would read it and laugh.  A good story, told or written, was more than meat and drink to his father-in-law.