"I am a soldier's wife," she said. "My husband was driven somewhere far away eight months ago, and I do not know where he is. I had been working as a cook when the baby was born; they would not keep me with the child. This is the third month that I have been without a place. I have spent all I had saved. I wanted to hire out as a wet-nurse, but they will not take me: they say that I am too thin. I went to a merchant woman, where our granny lives, and she promised she would take me. I thought she wanted me to come at once, but she told me she wanted me next week. She lives a distance away. I am all worn out and have worn out the dear child, too. Luckily our landlady pities us for the sake of Christ, or else I do not know how we should have lived until now." Avdyéich heaved a sigh, and said: "And have you no warm clothes?" "Indeed, it is time now to have warm clothing, dear man! But yesterday I pawned my last kerchief for twenty kopeks." The woman went up to the bed and took her child, but Avdyéich got up, went to the wall, rummaged there awhile, and brought her an old sleeveless cloak. "Take this!" he said. "It is an old piece, but you may use it to wrap yourself in." The woman looked at the cloak and at the old man, and took the cloak, and burst out weeping. Avdyéich turned his face away; he crawled under the bed, pulled out a box, rummaged through it, and again sat down opposite the woman. And the woman said: "May Christ save you, grandfather! Evidently He sent me to your window. My child would have frozen to death. When I went out it was warm, but now it has turned dreadfully cold. It was He, our Father, who taught you to look through the window and have pity on me, sorrowful woman." Avdyéich smiled, and said: "It is He who has instructed me: clever woman, there was good reason why I looked through the window." Martýn told the soldier woman about his dream, and how he had heard a voice promising him that the Lord would come to see him on that day. "Everything is possible," said the woman. She got up, threw the cloak over her, wrapped the child in it, and began to bow to Avdyéich and to thank him. "Accept this, for the sake of Christ," said Avdyéich, giving her twenty kopeks, with which to redeem her kerchief. The woman made the sign of the cross, and so did Avdyéich, and he saw the woman out. She went away. Avdyéich ate some soup, put the things away, and sat down once more to work. He was working, but at the same time thinking of the window: whenever it grew dark there, he looked up to see who was passing. There went by acquaintances and strangers, and there was nothing peculiar.