on Death," depicted a monk on his knees, gazing at a coffin and at
a skeleton laying in it. Behind the man's back stood another skeleton,
somewhat more solid and carrying a scythe.

"There are no bones like that," said my companion, pointing to the
place in the skeleton where there ought to have been a pelvis.
"Speaking generally, you know, the spiritual fare provided for the
people is not of the first quality," he added, and heaved through
his nose a long and very melancholy sigh, meant to show me that I
had to do with a man who really knew something about spiritual fare.

While I was looking for the matches to light a candle he sighed
once more and said:

"When I was in Harkov I went several times to the anatomy theatre
and saw the bones there; I have even been in the mortuary. Am I not
in your way?"

My room was small and poky, with neither table nor chairs in it,
but quite filled up with a chest of drawers by the window, the stove
and two little wooden sofas which stood against the walls, facing
one another, leaving a narrow space to walk between them. Thin
rusty-looking little mattresses lay on the little sofas, as well
as my belongings. There were two sofas, so this room was evidently
intended for two, and I pointed out the fact to my companion.

"They will soon be ringing for mass, though," he said, "and I shan't
have to be in your way very long."

Still under the impression that he was in my way and feeling awkward,