Isaac's, and then all the other bells, jangling, singing, crying,
chattering, answering from all over Petrograd. From the other side of
the Neva came the report of the guns and the fainter, more distant echo
of the guns near the sea. I could hear behind it all the incessant
"chuck-chuck, chuck-chuck," of the ice colliding on the river.
It was very cold, and we hurried back to Anglisky Prospect. Markovitch
was quite silent all the way.
When we arrived we found Vera and Uncle Ivan and Semyonov waiting for us
(Bohun was with friends). On the table was the _paskha_, a sweet paste
made of eggs and cream, curds and sugar, a huge ham, a large cake or
rather, sweet bread called _kulich_, and a big bowl full of Easter eggs,
as many-coloured as the rainbow. This would be the fare during the whole
week, as there was to be no cooking until the following Saturday--and
very tired of the ham and the eggs one became before that day. There was
also wine--some of Semyonov's gift, I supposed--and a tiny bottle of
vodka.
We were not a very cheerful company. Uncle Ivan, who was really
distinguished by his complete inability to perceive what was going on
under his nose, was happy, and ate a great deal of the ham and certainly
more of the _paskha_ than was good for him.
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