“I thank your illustrious Honour most humbly,” he said. “May God give you good health, a rich wife, and assured success. Only I want to say something to you.” He grew silent, and assumed a grave, important air. Trirodov frowned even more intensely than before, and asked stiffly: “What is it you wish to tell me?” The ragged one said with frank derision in his voice: “It’s this. You were reading a book, my good people, but not the right one.” He laughed a pathetic, insolent laugh. It was as if a timorous dog suddenly began to whine hoarsely, insolently, and cautiously. Trirodov asked again in astonishment: “Not the right one, why not?” The ragged one began to speak with awkward gestures, and he gave the impression that he was able to speak well and eloquently, and that he merely assumed his stupid, unpolished manner of speaking. “I had been listening to you a long time. I was behind the bush there. I was asleep, I must confess--then you came--chattered away, and waked me. The young lady read well. Clearly and sympathetically. One could see at once that it was from the heart. Only I don’t like the contents, and all that’s in this book.” “Why don’t you like it?” asked Elisaveta quietly. “In my opinion,” said the ragged one, “it isn’t your style. It doesn’t fit you somehow.” “What sort of book ought we to read?” asked Elisaveta. She gave a light, forced smile. The ragged one sat down on a near-by stump, and answered in no undue haste: “I am not thinking of you alone, honourable folk, but of all those who parade in fancy gaiters and in velvet dresses, and look scornfully at our brothers.” “What book?” again asked Elisaveta. “It’s the gospels that you ought to read,” he replied, as he looked attentively and austerely at Elisaveta, his glance taking in her entire figure from her flushed face down to her feet. “Why the gospels?” asked Trirodov, who suddenly grew morose. He appeared to be pondering over something, and unable to decide; his indecision seemed to torment him. The ragged one replied slowly: “I will tell you why; you’ll find the true facts there. We will take it easy in paradise, while the devils will be pulling the veins out of you in hell. And we shall look on coolly, and applaud gaily with our hands. It ought to prove entertaining.” He burst out into loud, hoarse laughter--but it seemed more assumed than joyous, and rather abject and hideous. Elisaveta shivered. “What a wicked person you are! Why do you think that?” said Elisaveta reproachfully. The ragged one glanced at her crossly, and looked fixedly into her deep blue eyes; then he said with a broad smile: “Why am I wicked? And are you two good? Wicked or not, the thing is to be just. But I may tell you, sir, that I like you,” he said as he turned suddenly to Trirodov. “Thank you for your good opinion,” said Trirodov with a slightly ironical smile, “but why should you like me?”