“It’s he!” and Eróshka burst out laughing. “It’s himself, it’s Mark. He is Luke, but I call him Mark for a joke. His very self! I love him. I was just such a one myself. What’s the good of minding them? My sweetheart used to sleep with her mother and her sister-in-law, but I managed to get in. She used to sleep upstairs; that witch her mother was a regular demon; it’s awful how she hated me. Well, I used to come with a chum, Gírchik his name was. We’d come under her window and I’d climb on his shoulders, push up the window and begin groping about. She used to sleep just there on a bench. Once I woke her up and she nearly called out. She hadn’t recognized me. ‘Who is there?’ she said, and I could not answer. Her mother was even beginning to stir, but I took off my cap and shoved it over her mouth; and she at once knew it by a seam in it, and ran out to me. I used not to want anything then. She’d bring along clotted cream and grapes and everything,” added Eróshka (who always explained things practically), “and she wasn’t the only one. It was a life!” “And what now?” “Now we’ll follow the dog, get a pheasant to settle on a tree, and then you may fire.” “Would you have made up to Maryánka?” “Attend to the dogs. I’ll tell you tonight,” said the old man, pointing to his favourite dog, Lyam. After a pause they continued talking, while they went about a hundred paces. Then the old man stopped again and pointed to a twig that lay across the path. “What do you think of that?” he said. “You think it’s nothing? It’s bad that this stick is lying so.” “Why is it bad?” He smiled. “Ah, you don’t know anything. Just listen to me. When a stick lies like that don’t you step across it, but go round it or throw it off the path this way, and say ‘Father and Son and Holy Ghost,’ and then go on with God’s blessing. Nothing will happen to you. That’s what the old men used to teach me.” “Come, what rubbish!” said Olénin. “You’d better tell me more about Maryánka. Does she carry on with Lukáshka?” “Hush ... be quiet now!” the old man again interrupted in a whisper: “just listen, we’ll go round through the forest.” And the old man, stepping quietly in his soft shoes, led the way by a narrow path leading into the dense, wild, overgrown forest. Now and again with a frown he turned to look at Olénin, who rustled and clattered with his heavy boots and, carrying his gun carelessly, several times caught the twigs of trees that grew across the path. “Don’t make a noise. Step softly, soldier!” the old man whispered angrily. There was a feeling in the air that the sun had risen. The mist was dissolving but it still enveloped the tops of the trees. The forest looked terribly high. At every step the aspect changed: what had appeared like a tree proved to be a bush, and a reed looked like a tree. Chapter XIX