‘It’s the truth I’m telling you; some merchants arrived here this morning from T----; they recognised her. They did tell me her name, but I’ve forgotten it.’ It was like a flash of enlightenment. ‘Is the pilgrim still here?’ I asked. ‘I fancy he’s not gone yet. He’s been ever so long at the gate, and making such a wonderful wise to-do, that there’s no getting by. He’s amusing himself with this tomfoolery; he finds it pay, no doubt.’ My man belonged to the same class of educated servants as Ardalion. ‘And is the lady with him?’ ‘Yes. She’s in attendance on him.’ * * * * * I went out on to the steps, and got a view of the crazy pilgrim. He was sitting on a bench at the gate, and, bent down with both his open hands pressed on it, he was shaking his drooping head from right to left, for all the world like a wild beast in a cage. The thick mane of curly hair covered his eyes, and shook from side to side, and so did his pendulous lips.... A strange, almost unhuman muttering came from them. His companion had only just finished washing from a pitcher that was hanging on a pole, and without having yet replaced her kerchief on her head, was making her way back to the gate along a narrow plank laid across the dark puddles of the filthy yard. I glanced at her head, which was now entirely uncovered, and positively threw up my hands with astonishment: before me stood Sophie B.! She turned quickly round and fixed upon me her blue eyes, immovable as ever. She was much thinner, her skin looked coarser and had the yellowish-ruddy tinge of sunburn, her nose was sharper, and her lips were harder in their lines. But she was not less good-looking; only besides her old expression of dreamy amazement there was now a different look--resolute, almost bold, intense and exalted. There was not a trace of childishness left in the face now. I went up to her. ‘Sophia Vladimirovna,’ I cried, ‘can it be you? In such a dress ... in such company....’ She started, looked still more intently at me, as though anxious to find out who was speaking to her, and, without saying a word to me, fairly rushed to her companion. ‘Akulinushka,’ he faltered, with a heavy sigh, ‘our sins, sins ...’ ‘Vassily Nikititch, let us go at once! Do you hear, at once, at once,’ she said, pulling her kerchief on to her forehead with one hand, while with the other she supported the pilgrim under the elbow; ‘let us go, Vassily Nikititch: there is danger here.’ ‘I’m coming, my good girl, I’m coming,’ the crazy pilgrim responded obediently, and, bending his whole body forward, he got up from the seat. ‘Here’s only this chain to fasten....’