‘Those who need to know; but, there, of course--there’s danger from the police to be guarded against. Because, say what you will, such doings are forbidden anyway, and for the common people are a temptation; the common people--the mob, we all know, quickly come to blows.’ ‘Has he shown you the dead?’ I asked Ardalion. Ardalion nodded. ‘He has; my father he brought before me as if living.’ I stared at Ardalion. He laughed and played with his dinner-napkin, and condescendingly, but unflinchingly, looked at me. ‘But this is very curious!’ I cried at last. ‘Couldn’t I make the acquaintance of this artisan?’ ‘You can’t go straight to him; but one can act through his mother. She’s a respectable old woman; she sells pickled apples on the bridge. If you wish it, I will ask her.’ ‘Please do.’ Ardalion coughed behind his hand. ‘And a gratuity, whatever you think fit, nothing much, of course, should also be handed to her--the old lady. And I on my side will make her understand that she has nothing to fear from you, as you are a visitor here, a gentleman--and of course you can understand that this is a secret, and will not in any case get her into any unpleasantness.’ Ardalion took the tray in one hand, and with a graceful swing of the tray and his own person, turned towards the door. ‘So I may reckon upon you!’ I shouted after him. ‘You may trust me!’ I heard his self-satisfied voice say: ‘We’ll talk to the old woman and transmit you her answer exactly.’ * * * * * I will not enlarge on the train of thought aroused in me by the extraordinary fact Ardalion had related; but I am prepared to admit that I awaited the promised reply with impatience. Late in the evening Ardalion came to me and announced that to his annoyance he could not find the old woman. I handed him, however, by way of encouragement, a three-rouble note. The next morning he appeared again in my room with a beaming countenance; the old woman had consented to see me. ‘Hi! boy!’ shouted Ardalion in the corridor; ‘Hi! apprentice! Come here!’ A boy of six came up, grimed all over with soot like a kitten, with a shaved head, perfectly bald in places, in a torn, striped smock, and huge goloshes on his bare feet. ‘You take the gentleman, you know where,’ said Ardalion, addressing the ‘apprentice,’ and pointing to me. ‘And you, sir, when you arrive, ask for Mastridia Karpovna.’ The boy uttered a hoarse grunt, and we set off. * * * * *