manifest!




III


This diversion lasted for two months.... And lo! again I am standing at
the window of the drawing-room and looking out into the courtyard....
Suddenly--what is this?... Through the gate with quiet step enters a
novice.... His conical cap is pulled down on his brow, his hair is
combed smoothly and flows from under it to right and left ... he wears a
long cassock and a leather girdle.... Can it be Mísha? It is!

I go out on the steps to meet him.... "What is the meaning of this
masquerade?" I ask.

"It is not a masquerade, uncle," Mísha answers me, with a deep
sigh;--"but as I have squandered all my property to the last kopék, and
as a mighty repentance has seized upon me, I have made up my mind to
betake myself to the Tróitzko-Sérgieva Lávra,[9] to pray away my sins.
For what asylum is now left to me?... And so I have come to bid you
farewell, uncle, like the Prodigal Son...."

I gazed intently at Mísha. His face was the same as ever, fresh and rosy
(by the way, it never changed to the very end), and his eyes were humid
and caressing and languishing, and his hands were small and white....
But he reeked of liquor.