I could have cried with anger that day. What was the use of this old man? What beauty was there in his deed? I could not understand it. All day and many days afterward I thought of him, and I felt that a devil mocked me and made grimaces at me. The last time that I went to him I filled my pockets with soft bread, and I brought that bread to him, with pain and anger against all mankind. When I gave it to him he whispered: "Oh, it is still warm. Oh!" He moved in his coffin. The shavings creaked underneath him while he hid his bread, whispering: "Oh, oh." The darkness and the mildewed wall--everything around us moved, reechoing the low groans of the ascetic--"Oh." Four times a week they brought him food. Of course, he was starved. This last time he said nothing to me, only sucked the bread. He evidently had not a tooth left in his head. I stood there for some time. Then I said: "Well, pardon me, in Christ's name, Father Mardarie. I am going now, and I won't return again. Let me thank you." "Yes, yes," he answered eagerly. "It is I who thank you; it is I who thank you. But don't tell the monks about the bread. They will take it away. They are jealous, the monks are. No doubt the devils know them, too. The devils know everything and everybody--say nothing about it." Soon after this he became ill and died. They buried him with solemnity. The Bishop came from the city with all his clergy, and they held a Cathedral Mass. Afterward I heard that under the tombstone of the old man a little blue fire burns of itself at night. How pitiful it all was and how disgraceful to man! CHAPTER XII Soon after this my life changed entirely. Even while Grisha was here an ugly incident happened to me. Once I went into the ante-room and caught Misha in an act which gave the lie to his constant and disgusting denunciation of women as unclean. It was inexpressibly disgusting to me, for I remembered all the filth which he spoke about women; I remembered his hatred of them; and I spat and escaped to the bakery, trembling with wrath and shame and bitterness. He followed me, fell on his knees, and begged me not to tell. "I know that she torments you at night, too. The power of the devil is strong." "You lie," I said. "Go to all the devils, you pig. And you bake bread, you dog!" I insulted him, for I could not contain myself. If he had not soiled all womankind with his dirty words, I would not have minded it so much. But he crawled before me and begged me not to tell. "Well," I said, "can one speak about such things? It is too shameful. But I don't want to work with you. Tell them to give me other work." I insisted on that. At this time people were not yet alive or clear to me, and I strove only for one thing: to keep myself apart. Misha became ill and lay in the hospital. I worked as of old and was given two assistants to help me.