“What? You have forgotten your old friend, the _bavin_ Schtoltz?” the other asked reproachfully. “Dear, dear! Is it _really_ your Honour? My bad sight has got the better of me.” Catching Schtoltz impetuously by the hand, the old man imprinted kiss after kiss upon the skirt of his coat. “The Lord Himself has permitted a poor lost wretch to see a joyful day!” he said, half-laughing, half-crying. Over his face, and particularly over his nose, there had spread a purplish tinge, while his head was almost completely bald, and his whiskers, though still long, looked so matted and entangled as to resemble pieces of felt wherein snowballs have been wrapped. As for his clothing, it consisted of an old, faded cloak, with one of the lapels missing, and a pair of down-at-heel goloshes. In his hands was a cap from which the fur had become worn away. “Ah, good sir!” he repeated. “Heaven has indeed granted me joy for to-day’s festival!” “But why are you in this state?” Schtoltz inquired. “Are you not ashamed of yourself?” “Yes, your Honour; but what else could I do?” And Zakhar heaved a profound sigh. “How else was I to live? So long as Anisia was alive I had _not_ to go wandering about like this, for I was given bite and sup whenever I wanted it; but she died of cholera (Heaven rest her soul!), and her brother straightway refused to support me, saying that I was nothing but an old hanger-on. From Michei Andreitch Tarantiev too I received shameful abuse, and neither of them--would you believe it, your Honour?--ever gave me a morsel of bread! Indeed, had it not been for the _barinia_, God bless her”--and Zakhar crossed himself--“I should long ago have perished of the cold; but for a while she gave me a bit of clothing, and as much bread as I could eat, and a place by the stove of a night. Then they took to rating her on my account; so at last I left the house to wander whither my eyes might lead me. This is the second year that I have been dragging out this miserable existence.” “But why did you not go and seek a situation?” Schtoltz inquired. “Where was I to get one at this time of day, your Honour? True, I tried for two, but was unsuccessful. Things are not what they used to be: everything has changed for the worse. Nowadays masters require their lacqueys to look respectable, and the gentry no longer keep their halls chock-full of footmen. Indeed, ’tis seldom that you will find so many as _two_ footmen in a house. Yes,” he went on, “the gentry actually take off their_ own boots! They have even gone so _far as to invent a machine to do it with!” Evidently the idea cut Zakhar to the heart. “Yes,” he repeated, “our gentry are a shame and a disgrace to the country. They are fast coming to rack and ruin.” A sigh of profound regret followed.