and food; sometimes her dreams concluded the unfinished tale more
vividly, more eloquently far."

We must give the pendant to this picture--the portrait of Obrazétz himself,
sitting in his easy-chair, listening to a tale of travels in the East.

"How noble was the aged man, free from stormy passions, finishing the
pilgrimage of life! You seemed to behold him in pure white raiment,
ready to appear before his heavenly judge. Obrazétz was the chief of
the party in years, in grave majestic dignity, and patriarchal air.
Crossing his arms upon his staff, he covered them with his beard,
downy as the soft fleece of a lamb; the glow of health, deepened by
the cup of strong mead, blushed through the snow-white hair with
which his cheeks were thickly clothed; he listened with singular
attention and delight to the story-teller. This pleasure was painted
on his face, and shone brightly in his eyes; from time to time a
smile of good-humoured mockery flitted across his lips, but this was
only the innocent offspring of irony which was raised in his good
heart by Aphónia's boasting, (for very few story-tellers, you know,
are free from this sin.) Reclining his shoulders against the back of
his arm-chair, he shut his eyes, and, laying his broad hairy hand
upon Andrióusha's head, he softly, gently dallied with the boy's
flaxen locks. On his countenance the gratification of curiosity was
mingled with affectionate tenderness: he was not dozing, but seemed
to be losing himself in sweet reveries. In the old man's visions
arose the dear never forgotten son, whom he almost fancied he was
caressing. When he opened his eyes, their white lashes still bore
traces of the touching society of his unearthly guest; but when he
remarked that the tear betraying the secret of his heart had
disturbed his companions, and made his daughter anxious, the former