behind it a tall belfry in the full moonlight, and beside it five
shining, golden cupolas: this was the Pankratievsky Monastery, in
which Bishop Pyotr lived. And here, too, high above the monastery,
was the silent, dreamy moon. The carriage drove in at the gate,
crunching over the sand; here and there in the moonlight there were
glimpses of dark monastic figures, and there was the sound of
footsteps on the flag-stones. . . .

"You know, your holiness, your mamma arrived while you were away,"
the lay brother informed the bishop as he went into his cell.

"My mother? When did she come?"

"Before the evening service. She asked first where you were and
then she went to the convent."

"Then it was her I saw in the church, just now! Oh, Lord!"

And the bishop laughed with joy.

"She bade me tell your holiness," the lay brother went on, "that
she would come to-morrow. She had a little girl with her--her
grandchild, I suppose. They are staying at Ovsyannikov's inn."

"What time is it now?"

"A little after eleven."

"Oh, how vexing!"