not have to look the people in the face. One is ashamed not to
officiate, as you know. Besides, I have business here, Fyodor
Ilyitch. To-morrow after breaking the fast I want to talk things
over thoroughly with the Father charged with the inquiry."

"Ah! . . ." yawned his Reverence, "and where are you staying?"

"At Zyavkin's."

Father Anastasy suddenly remembered that within two hours his
Reverence had to take the Easter-night service, and he felt so
ashamed of his unwelcome burdensome presence that he made up his
mind to go away at once and let the exhausted man rest. And the old
man got up to go. But before he began saying good-bye he stood
clearing his throat for a minute and looking searchingly at his
Reverence's back, still with the same expression of vague expectation
in his whole figure; his face was working with shame, timidity, and
a pitiful forced laugh such as one sees in people who do not respect
themselves. Waving his hand as it were resolutely, he said with a
husky quavering laugh:

"Father Fyodor, do me one more kindness: bid them give me at
leave-taking . . . one little glass of vodka."

"It's not the time to drink vodka now," said his Reverence sternly.
"One must have some regard for decency."

Father Anastasy was still more overwhelmed by confusion; he laughed,
and, forgetting his resolution to go away, he dropped back on his
chair. His Reverence looked at his helpless, embarrassed face and