The silence of the night became more intense every moment, as if it were going to last forever. Softly putting my feet to the floor, I went to the double door, half of which was open. In the corridor, under the lamp, on a wooden bench with a back to it, appeared a gray, bristling head surrounded by smoke, looking at me with dark, hollow eyes. I had no time to hide myself. "Who is that wandering about? Come here!" The voice was not formidable; it was soft. I went to him. I saw a round face with short hair sticking out round it. On the head the hair was long and stuck out in all directions like a silver halo, and at the belt of this person hung a bunch of keys. If his beard and hair had been longer, he would have looked like the Apostle Peter. "You are the one with the burned hands? Why are you wandering about at night? By whose authority?" He blew a lot of smoke at my chest and face, and, putting his warm hands on my neck, drew me to him. "Are you frightened?" "Yes." "Every one is frightened when they come here first, but that is nothing. And you need not be afraid of me, of all people. I never hurt any one. Would you like to smoke? No, don't! It is too soon; wait a year or two. And where are your parents? You have none? Ah, well, you don't need them; you will be able to get along without them. Only you must not be afraid, do you see?" It was a long time since I had come across any one who spoke to me simply and kindly in language that I could understand, and it was inexpressibly pleasant to me to listen to him. When he took me back to my cot I asked him: "Come and sit beside me." "All right," he agreed. "Who are you?" "I? I am a soldier, a real soldier, a Cossack. And I have been in the wars--well, of course I have! Soldiers live for war. I have fought with the Hungarians, with the Circassians, and the Poles, as many as you like. War, my boy, is a great profession." I closed my eyes for a minute, and when I opened them, there, in the place of the soldier, sat grandmother, in a dark frock, and he was standing by her. She was saying: "Dear me! So they are all dead?" The sun was playing in the room, now gilding every object, then hiding, and then looking radiantly upon us all again, just like a child frolicking. Babushka bent over me and asked: "What is it, my darling? They have been mutilating you? I told that old red devil--" "I will make all the necessary arrangements," said the soldier, going away, and grandmother, wiping the tears from her face, said: "Our soldier, it seems, comes from Balakhna." I still thought that I must be dreaming, and kept silence. The doctor came, bandaged my burns, and, behold! I was sitting with grandmother in a cab, and driving through the streets of the town. She told me: