And Alexei threw me out on the street with great vigor. It was evening. I had spent fully two hours talking with the old archbishop. The streets were in semi-darkness, and the picture was not joyful. Everywhere there were noisy crowds, talk and laughter. It was holiday time, the feast of the Three Wise Men. Weakly I walked along and looked into the faces of the people. They angered me and I felt like shouting out to them: "Hey, you people, what are _you_ so satisfied about? They are murdering your God. Take care!" I walked along in my misery as one drunk, and did not know where I was going. I did not want to go to my inn, for there there was noise and drinking. I went out into the farthest suburb. Little houses stood there, whose yellow windows looked out upon the fields, and the winds played with the snow about them, and whistled and covered them up. I wanted to drink--to get very drunk; but alone, without people. I was a stranger to all and was guilty before all. "I will cross this field," I thought, "and see where it leads to." Suddenly a woman came out of a gate, dressed in a light dress and with a shawl as her only protection against the cold. She looked into my face and asked: "What is your name?" I understood that she was guessing her future husband. "I will not tell you my name. I am an unhappy man." "Unhappy?" she asked, laughing. "Now, in the holiday season?" I did not like her gaiety. "Is there no inn here in the neighborhood?" I asked. "I would like to rest and warm myself a bit. It is cold." She looked at me searchingly and said in a friendly tone: "There, farther on, you will find an inn. But if you wish, you can come to us and get a glass of tea." Indifferently and without thinking, I followed her. I came to the room. On the wall in the comer burned a little lamp, and under the holy images sat a stout old woman, chewing something. A samovar was on the table; everything seemed cozy and warm. The woman asked me to sit down at the table. She was young, with red cheeks and a high bosom. The old woman looked at me from her corner and sniffed. She had a large, withered face, almost, it seemed, without eyes. I was embarrassed. What was I doing here? Who were they? I asked the young woman: "What do you do?" "I make lace." True. On the wall were hung bunches of bobbins. Suddenly she laughed boldly and looked me straight in the face, and added: "And then, I walk some." The old woman laughed coarsely: "What a shameless hussy you are, Tanka!" Had the old woman not said that, I would not have understood Tatiana's words. Now I knew what she meant, and became ill at ease. It was the first time in my life I had seen a loose girl, near-to, and naturally I did not think well of such women. Tatiana laughed. "See, Petrovna, he blushes," she said. I became angry. "And so I have fallen in here--from penance right into sin," I thought. I said to the girl: "Does one boast of such an occupation?"