“Glory be to Thee, O Lord!” exclaimed Efimushka, gathering up the crumbs of his piece of bread and licking them up from the palm of his hand with his tongue. “The Lord hath fed us--no one hath seen us; and He who hath seen us, His eye was unoffended! Comrade, what do you say to sitting here another hour or so? Plenty time for the cold cell, eh?” His comrade nodded his assent. “Well, well.... A very good place--it has a place in my heart.... Over there, to the left, once stood the manor of the Tuchkovs.” “Where?” quickly inquired the prisoner, wheeling around in the direction indicated by Efimushka. “Over there, behind that hill. All the land hereabouts belonged to them. They were very rich; but after the emancipation they didn’t do as well.... I too belonged to them--all of us belonged to them. It was a big family.... There was the Colonel himself--Alexander Nikitich Tuchkov. Then, there were four sons--where could they all have gone to? It is as if the wind carried them along, like leaves in the autumn. Only Ivan Alexandrovich remains--I am taking you to him now. He is our magistrate ... quite an old man.” The prisoner laughed. His laugh had a hollow sound in it; it was a strange inward sort of laugh: his chest and stomach shook, but the face remained unmoved; and when he showed his teeth, there issued from between them hollow, dog-like sounds. Efimushka, trembling apprehensively, reached out for his stick and placed it nearer within his reach. He asked: “What is the matter with you now?” “Nothing.... It was just a passing thought,” said the prisoner abruptly, but kindly. “Go on with your story.” “W-well, yes. As I was saying, they were important people, the Tuchkovs, and now they are here no more.... Some of them have died, some of them have simply vanished, and not a soul knows what’s become of them. One especially I have in mind--the very youngest. Victor was his name--Vic for short. He was a comrade of mine.... At the time of the emancipation we were, both of us, fourteen years old.... He was a fine lad, and may God be good to his soul! A pure stream! Running along beautifully all day--and gurgling.... Where is he now? Is he living or dead?” “In what way was he so ‘good’?” Efimushka’s companion asked quietly.