‘Who’s that waiting on him?’ I asked. ‘We don’t know, sir, who it is; she too, I suppose, is seeking salvation, atoning for her sins. But what a saintly man he is!’ ‘Akulinushka, my sweet child, my dear daughter,’ the crazy pilgrim was repeating meanwhile, and he suddenly burst into tears. The woman kneeling before him lifted her eyes to him.... Heavens! where had I seen those eyes? The landlady went up to her with the spoonful of oil. She finished her operation, and, getting up from the floor, asked if there were a clean loft and a little hay.... ‘Vassily Nikititch likes to sleep on hay,’ she added. ‘To be sure there is, come this way,’ answered the woman; ‘come this way, my dear,’ she turned to the holy man, ‘and dry yourself and rest.’ The man coughed, slowly got up from the bench--his chains clanked again--and turning round with his face to me, looked for the holy pictures, and began crossing himself with a wide movement. I recognised him instantly: it was the very artisan Vassily, who had once shown me my dead tutor! His features were little changed; only their expression had become still more unusual, still more terrible.... The lower part of his swollen face was overgrown with unkempt beard. Tattered, filthy, wild-looking, he inspired in me more repugnance than horror. He left off crossing himself, but still his eyes wandered senselessly about the corners of the room, about the floor, as though he were waiting for something.... ‘Vassily Nikititch, please come,’ said the woman in the jacket with a bow. He suddenly threw up his head and turned round, but stumbled and tottered.... His companion flew to him at once, and supported him under the arm. Judging by her voice and figure, she seemed still young; her face it was almost impossible to see. ‘Akulinushka, friend!’ the vagrant repeated once more in a shaking voice, and opening his mouth wide, and smiting himself on the breast with his fist, he uttered a deep groan, that seemed to come from the bottom of his heart. Both followed the landlady out of the room. I lay down on my hard sofa and mused a long while on what I had seen. My mesmeriser had become a regular religious maniac. This was what he had been brought to by the power which one could not but recognise in him! * * * * * The next morning I was preparing to go on my way. The rain was falling as fast as the day before, but I could not delay any longer. My servant, as he gave me water to wash, wore a special smile on his face, a smile of restrained irony. I knew that smile well; it indicated that my servant had heard something discreditable or even shocking about gentlefolks. He was obviously burning with impatience to communicate it to me. ‘Well, what is it?’ I asked at last. ‘Did your honour see the crazy pilgrim yesterday?’ my man began at once. ‘Yes; what then?’ ‘And did you see his companion too?’ ‘Yes, I saw her.’ ‘She’s a young lady, of noble family.’ ‘What?’