"So you've found a merry companion, have you? You, pilgrim, are
fond of a joke I see. . . ."

"To be sure I am," says the stranger, with a hoarse chuckle. "Ah,
my dear good man, I bet you will remember the pilgrim many a long
year!"

"Why should I remember you?"

"Why I've got round you so smartly. . . . Am I a pilgrim? I am not
a pilgrim at all."

"What are you then?"

"A dead man. . . . I've only just got out of my coffin. . . . Do
you remember Gubaryev, the locksmith, who hanged himself in carnival
week? Well, I am Gubaryev himself! . . ."

"Tell us something else!"

The watchman does not believe him, but he feels all over such a
cold, oppressive terror that he starts off and begins hurriedly
feeling for the gate.

"Stop, where are you off to?" says the stranger, clutching him by
the arm. "Aie, aie, aie . . . what a fellow you are! How can you
leave me all alone?"

"Let go!" cries the watchman, trying to pull his arm away.