She gave her her handkerchief. ‘O-oh, my pretty lady,’ said the beggar, ‘what do you give your handkerchief to me for? For a wedding-present to my grandchild when she’s married? God reward you for your goodness!’ A peal of thunder was heard. ‘Lord Jesus Christ,’ muttered the beggar-woman, and she crossed herself three times. ‘Why, haven’t I seen you before,’ she added after a brief pause. ‘Didn’t you give me alms in Christ’s name?’ Elena looked more attentively at the old woman and recognised her. ‘Yes, grannie,’ she answered, ‘wasn’t it you asked me why I was so sorrowful?’ ‘Yes, darling, yes. I fancied I knew you. And I think you’ve a heart-ache still. You seem in trouble now. Here’s your handkerchief, too, wet from tears to be sure. Oh, you young people, you all have the same sorrow, a terrible woe it is!’ ‘What sorrow, grannie?’ ‘Ah, my good young lady, you can’t deceive an old woman like me. I know what your heart is heavy over; your sorrow’s not an uncommon one. Sure, I have been young too, darling. I have been through that trouble too. Yes. And I’ll tell you something, for your goodness to me; you’ve won a good man, not a light of love, you cling to him alone; cling to him stronger than death. If it comes off, it comes off,--if not, it’s in God’s hands. Yes. Why are you wondering at me? I’m a fortune-teller. There, I’ll carry away your sorrow with your handkerchief. I’ll carry it away, and it’s over. See the rain’s less; you wait a little longer. It’s not the first time I’ve been wet. Remember, darling; you had a sorrow, the sorrow has flown, and there’s no memory of it. Good Lord, have mercy on us!’ The beggar-woman got up from the edge of the well, went out of the chapel, and stole off on her way. Elena stared after her in bewilderment. ‘What does this mean?’ she murmured involuntarily. The rain grew less and less, the sun peeped out for an instant. Elena was just preparing to leave her shelter.... Suddenly, ten paces from the chapel, she saw Insarov. Wrapt in a cloak he was walking along the very road by which Elena had come; he seemed to be hurrying home. She clasped the old rail of the steps for support, and tried to call to him, but her voice failed her... Insarov had already passed by without raising his head. ‘Dmitri Nikanorovitch!’ she said at last. Insarov stopped abruptly, looked round.... For the first minute he did not know Elena, but he went up to her at once. ‘You! you here!’ he cried. She walked back in silence into the chapel. Insarov followed Elena. ‘You here?’ he repeated. She was still silent, and only gazed upon him with a strange, slow, tender look. He dropped his eyes. ‘You have come from our house?’ she asked. ‘No... not from your house.’ ‘No?’ repeated Elena, and she tried to smile. ‘Is that how you keep your promises? I have been expecting you ever since the morning.’ ‘I made no promise yesterday, if you remember, Elena Nikolaevna.’