Page:The Novels of Ivan Turgenev (volume XIV).djvu/83

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A STRANGE STORY

'It seems there is very little faith nowadays,' I observed; 'anyway, one doesn't hear of miracles.'

'But yet there are miracles; you have seen one yourself. No; faith is not dead nowadays; and the beginning of faith . . .'

'The fear of God is the beginning of wisdom,' I interrupted.

'The beginning of faith,' pursued Sophie, nothing daunted, 'is self-abasement . . . humiliation.'

'Humiliation even?' I queried.

'Yes. The pride of man, haughtiness, presumption—that is what must be utterly rooted up. You spoke of the will—that's what must be broken.'

I scanned the whole figure of the young girl who was uttering such sentences. . . . 'My word, the child's in earnest, too,' was my thought. I glanced at our neighbours in the mazurka; they, too, glanced at me, and I fancied that my astonishment amused them; one of them even smiled at me sympathetically, as though he would say: 'Well, what do you think of our queer young lady? every one here knows what she's like.'

'Have you tried to break your will?' I said, turning to Sophie again.

'Every one is bound to do what he thinks right,' she answered in a dogmatic tone.

'Let me ask you,' I began, after a brief

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