"Well, what of it?" the old man shouted excitedly. "You can't cure a man of consumption. He would have died at any rate." Yevsey sat upon the chest listening to the low rasping sound of his talk. "What are you sitting there for?" The boy turned around, and saw the master's head thrust through the door. "Lie down and sleep." The master withdrew his head, and the door was tightly closed. "Who died?" Yevsey thought as he lay in bed. The dry words of the old man came fluttering down and fluttering down, like autumn leaves upon a grave. The boy felt more and more distinctly that he lived in a circle of dread mystery. Sometimes the old man grew angry, and shouted; which prevented the boy from thinking or sleeping. He was sorry for Rayisa, who kept peacefully silent in answer to his ejaculations. At last Yevsey heard her go to her own room. Perfect stillness then prevailed in the master's room for several minutes, after which Raspopov's voice sounded again, but now even as usual: "Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sit--" With these reassuring words ringing in his ears Yevsey fell asleep. The next morning Rayisa again called him to her. "What happened in the shop yesterday?" she asked with a smile when he had seated himself. Yevsey told her everything in detail, and she laughed contentedly and happily. She suddenly drew her brows together and asked in an undertone: "Do you understand who he is?" "No." "A spy," she whispered, her eyes growing wide with fright. Yevsey was silent. She rose and went to him. "What a tragic fellow you are!" she said thoughtfully and kindly, stroking his head. "You don't understand anything. You're so droll. What was the stuff you told me the other day? What other life?" The question animated him; he wanted very much to talk about it. Raising his head and looking into her face with the fathomless stare of blind eyes, he began to speak rapidly. "Of course there's another life. From where else do the fairy-tales come? And not only the fairy-tales, but--" The woman smiled, and rumpled his hair with her warm fingers. "You little stupid! They'll seize you," she added seriously, even sternly, "they'll lead you wherever they want to, and do with you whatever they want to. That will be your life." Yevsey nodded his head, silently assenting to Rayisa's words. She sighed and looked through the window upon the street. When she turned to Yevsey, her face surprised him. It was red, and her eyes had become smaller and darker. "If you were smarter," she said in an indolent, hollow voice, "or more alert, maybe I would tell you something. But you're such a queer chappie there's no use telling you anything, and your master ought to be choked to death. There, now, go tell him what I've said--you tell him everything." Yevsey rose from the table, feeling as if a cold stream of insult had been poured over him. He inclined his head and mumbled: